Time Changes Everything
by Please.Insert.Name
Summary: In 1943 many events e Heir of Slytherin claimed his title and opened the Chamber of Secrets; Tom Riddle took the first steps in becoming Lord Voldemort; Harry Potter arrived at Hogwarts, ready for his Sixth Year... Wait, that's not right...
1. Chapter 1

_'For my part, I consider that it will be found much better by all parties to leave the past to history, especially as I propose to write that history myself._'  
><em>~ Winston Churchill<em>

* * *

><p>It was with troubled eyes that Armando Dippet surveyed the student sitting before him. On one hand, he believed the boy's story to be true - he certainly did look as if he had barely made it out of muggle London with his life... and was that <em>blood<em> on his sleeve? However, there was also a hunger in his eyes that unnerved him, but he pushed that thought aside as quickly as it came.

Dippet felt that after decades as Headmaster, he was good at reading students, but the boy in front of him was proving difficult. He was more than sure the emotions the boy was displaying now were a product from his experiences, not his actual character... But there was still that niggling thought in the back of his mind...

"Harry, your file says you were home schooled before... before the accident?" Dippet winced over his phrasing, but the boy never seemed phased. Still in shock, the Headmaster thought sadly.

"Yes, I was schooled to a sixth year level," came the quiet, reserved reply.

"Good, good," replied Dippet distractedly, "Now we will need to conduct aptitude tests to confirm this, but the results will take about a week to come back. Nevertheless, we shall get you sorted first, and settled, no need to pile everything on at once after all, and conduct the tests when you are of a more... sound frame of mind. Does that sound alright?"

"You are very kind, Sir. Thank you." Emerald eyes shone with gratitude, and Dippet suppressed a smile.

"I realise that this is a delicate subject, but did your parents leave you with enough money for basic living necessities and the such?"

"My mother," the boy coughed a little here, the grief in his eyes going straight to Dippet's heart, "I apologise, my mother always gets... I mean got our family by on the bare minimum to save away enough money for me to get by once they were gone."

"I see, she was a wise woman. If you need anything else, you can either approach myself or Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore," Dippet offered a small smile which Harry did not return, merely returning to gaze at the floor, "Now," he looked at his watch, "I am afraid I am late for an appointment. Gerda can show you to our guest rooms where you can sleep for a little bit before the Sorting."

Harry never even looked mildly surprised when a house-elf materialised next to him, leading him enthusiastically from the room. As the door shut with a resounding creak, Dippet tried not to sigh. Hogwarts was the best place for this boy, hopefully he could recover amongst the support of his peers.

* * *

><p>Harry Potter paced the guest room impatiently, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Unlike his thoughts, the room was cheerful, situated in one of the many turrets that held the castle. The midday sun shone brightly, beaming in through the vast windows, and creating little crystals of light as it bounced off anything remotely reflective.<p>

Harry wanted to close the curtains, his fingers itching for the silk tassels.

So far it had went well. Dippet had swallowed his story about a home-schooled boy who barely made it out of the air raids in muggle London hook, line and sinker. Of course, the documents that Dumbledore had sent back with him had also helped.

Involuntarily his mind went back to the last look of his Headmaster. Dumbledore's robes breezed around him, as his magic flared, barricading the doors from the Death Eaters outside. His office that had once felt so spacious, had became a prison, and both the inhabitants knew Hogwarts had fallen.

That was when Dumbledore had produced the time-turner, his blue eyes shining with worry as he explained this had never been tested, and that it really was a worst case scenario plan.

Harry really wanted to tell the Headmaster that if the worse case scenario was them being moments away from death with the Order in tatters, they had reached that long before now.

Dumbledore had went first, sending instructions to his past self, before returning, placing the time-turner around Harry's neck, and sending him hurtling through the pages of history to 1943.

Now he was here. This year a basilisk would be let loose. Tom Riddle would learn of his true identity, and take the first steps to become Voldemort.

But that wouldn't happen.

This year, Tom Riddle would die, Harry would save the timeline, and Voldemort would never have existed.

It was a good, solid plan.

If only it was that easy.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Shamelessly I have to confess I started writing this after reading Fate's Favourite by The Fictionist. I haven't written Tom/Harry in a while, and certainly one that isn't slash... It may end up that way depending on my resolve, but I'm actually trying to do something different - I already have a time-travel story like that. _

_Anyhoo, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and I really would appreciate a review - it's been too long since I dabbled in this pairing!_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, I am simply a poor student with too much free time._


	2. Chapter 2

He was on his way back to Hogwarts, finally free of the muggle filth he had been immersed in all Summer. They were pathetic, cowering as another muggle, desperate for power, dropped bombs on them. Whimpering in fear. Crying.

It was sickening.

If there was one thing Tom Riddle had never truly felt it was fear.

Really, why was there the need for such an emotion? If you played your cards right, gained control of the situation, and pulled the strings in just the right way, you had power.

Power obliterated fear, and if there was one thing Tom was very good at, it was holding onto it.

When he first arrived it had taken the Slytherin's precisely one minute to realise he was a half-blood.

It had taken them two to fear him.

He quite liked his empire. Yes, his Death Eater's weren't the brightest sort, but they were the best of a bad bunch. Even now he could list everyone's weaknesses, pinpoint them with terrifying accuracy, and destroy with them mercilessly...

"My Lord, how was your holidays?" murmured Black quietly. Tom relished how quickly that had caught on. Of course, if anyone outside his inner circle knew of the title, he would be investigated faster than Dumbledore could offer one of his blasted lemon drops.

It wasn't as if they would find anything, however.

"Adequate, Cygnus," Tom replied, the young Black looking slightly elated at receiving his Lord's attention, opening a chocolate frog with more care under his Lord's gaze.

"I for one cannot see how you stand it there," drawled Abraxus, peeking over the Daily Prophet, "I would have to keep casting cleaning charms on myself every few seconds."

"It is worth it to see them cowering, fearing for their pitiful lives. As if it would matter them dying," laughed Tom coldly. The others in the compartment shared a chuckle.

"They truly are pathetic. Why on the way to King's Cross, mother and I passed a beggar. Imagine that, being reduced to filth beyond filth," Avery's face twisted in disgust.

"One has to hand it to them for their persistence. They just don't die," chimed in Lestrange, taking a break from his game of Wizard's Chess with Avery to look at his Lord.

"If they just died they wouldn't be any fun," said Tom, his words almost coming out as a hiss. Visibly all the Death Eaters flinched, and Tom smirked. Cowards, the lot of them, but useful cowards nonetheless.

"Did you see the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is planning on introducing a creature mapping scheme?" asked Cygnus, and Tom smirked at the deliberate change in conversation. Cygnus's eyes flitted to his, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. It was almost amusing how much they turned to him, wanting his approval on every topic they discussed...

"Father says nothing will come of it. He's been trying for years to get something like this introduced," sighed Abraxus, running his fingers smoothly through his hair.

"Then your father obviously hasn't tried hard enough," said Tom calmly, noting the colour draining from the young Malfoy's face, "If one needs something to be done, one must have the ambition to go after it with all they have, or modify their plans accordingly."

"What Abraxus is trying to say, my Lord, is that the Minister just won't listen," Avery replied, his shoulders slightly hunched as if he expected a withering comment to come flying in his direction.

All Tom did though, was give a thoughtful "Hmm," before directing his attention out of the window again. He tried not to smirk when he sensed the relief flooding through the room.

It was slightly irritating, however, how easy it was to twist these people. They had their uses, but that never made them interesting, and after five years he could already feel the boredom creeping in.

He wanted a challenge. Something that would occupy his mind for more than a few moments...

* * *

><p>Said challenge was currently picking at the sleeves of his robes that Dippet had kindly given him until he could get to Diagon Alley for new ones.<p>

They were slightly worn, and he could already tell they had been used by another prior to him. It was a nice gesture, but he felt slightly uncomfortable in another's clothes.

He couldn't really wear his own though. Worn and slightly big would be better than bloodstained and dirty any day.

He could practically hear the rumours that would start about him if he showed up in those!

Pacing his room, Harry felt some nerves begin to bubble in his stomach. Sorting was never pleasant, but without Ron telling him what to do, or Hermione rationalising that the test can't be that bad, he couldn't help the wave of homesickness that engulfed him.

Although it was slightly mental that the person he knew best in this world would be the one who tried to kill him in fifty years time.

Gerda popped up next to him, her hands clutching at her pillowcase nervously.

"Master Dippet told me to inform you the Sorting is about to begin," squeaked the elf.

"Thank you, Gerda, can you show me the way to the Great Hall please?" Harry let a look of fear flit across his face. He knew it wasn't a complete lie, and made an effort to curb his emotions. He'd been through this before, it wasn't that bad!

"You are most polite, Sir!" Gerda said excitedly, her eyes shining with happiness, "Gerda will show you now, Sir!"

Walking through the castle, Harry tried to revert back to his First Year mindset, looking in awe at anything remotely magical. He must have put on a good show, as Gerda twittered away about the history of the castle, and the Headmaster's she had served. She reminded him slightly of Dobby, and when he thanked her as they arrived at the Hall, she looked like she would explode with happiness, muttering how he should go down to the kitchens and ask for her if he needed anything.

To say the First Years were looking at him strangely would be an understatement. One boy even had his mouth agape, and Harry glared at him, seeing the boy visibly shrink back to talk to a girl with honey blonde hair.

Compared with his time the castle hadn't changed much, the students, however, were a different story. Many looked refined, but some looked scarily thin, and it was easy to tell the Purebloods from the Muggleborns.

It was strange to think that only a few miles away a war was being fought.

"First years, over here please," came a voice Harry would recognise anywhere.

Seeing Dumbledore young in a memory was startling different than seeing him in life. He wore magenta robes dotted with silvers stars which clashed tremendously with his auburn hair. Harry could already hear the First Years whispering about him, and he realised that Grindelwald was happening right now as well, and many thought Dumbledore was the only reason he hadn't reached Britain yet.

However, when those brilliant blue eyes fell on him, he could have been back in his time for all he knew. Dumbledore offered him a small smile which Harry tentatively returned, and next thing he knew he was being ushered into the Hall.

This was different from his first Sorting. Not only that it was in 1943, but more that he wasn't being gawked at... Well he was, but it wasn't for defeating Voldemort at least.

Speaking of Voldemort, Harry could already see Tom Riddle sitting in the middle of the Slytherin table. He recognised most of the people around him based on their future relations. The Death Eaters in the making, if not already.

Despite the chatter Riddle was silent, and Harry noted he only spoke when asked a direct question, or ignored someone entirely - Harry was sure he saw a relation of Dolohov looking dejected when he never got so much as an acknowledgement.

Turning his attention back to the line in front of him he could feel the weight of the Heir's gaze on him before leaving him after a few moments. Apparently he wasn't that entertaining.

Harry got the joy of being Sorted first, after Dippet gave a speech on how to be nice to him, and not ask intrusive questions - he might as well have just gave Harry a giant sign saying_ 'Ask me anything, I'm mysterious!'_

Trying not to roll his eyes at the sudden increase in interest from the students, Harry felt the smooth velvet of the hat be placed on his head, this time not going over his eyes, and heard the familiar sound of the Sorting Hat's voice in his mind.

_'Time-traveller, eh? Don't get many of those now, but see here, looks like I've had you before,"_ came the hat's breathy voice.

_'Can you just Sort me already?' _asked Harry impatiently.

_'Well, you went to Gryffindor the first time... let's try _SLYTHERIN!' The hat announced the house name, and Harry all but yanked it back from Dumbledore to demand to be let into Gryffindor. Hell, he'd even settle for Hufflepuff!

Everyone in the Hall started cheering as he numbly made his way towards the table.

Harry wasn't focused on this, however, he was now focused on the very heavy gaze of Tom Riddle.

Apparently he was interesting now. Great.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Wow, I'm surprised at the interest this has generated, personally I thought the first chapter was pretty awful - People who have read my work before will know I hate them with a passion! _

_The Death Eaters here were pieced together on the Harry Potter Wiki with various family trees - any errors are mine alone. _

_Do you think the characterisation of Tom seems alright? Keep in mind this year he commits his first murders, so he won't be a ray of sunshine. _

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter :'(_


	3. Chapter 3

Harry liked to think himself to be quick with a line, not lagging on social skills. But a Lion was never meant to be in the Snake Pit, and he was quickly being cornered by the most lethal one of all.

All through dinner he had avoided his gaze, and generally just kept to himself, all the while feeling like an animal in a zoo.

It was ridiculous, didn't he understand the whole _'Staring is rude'_ concept?

One glance up told him he apparently didn't.

His stomach was too full of butterflies to manage more than a few bites, and right now, entering the Slytherin Common Room, the food that he did manage to eat was coming back with a vengeance.

The Common Room was a far cry away from Gryffindor Tower. The green hues combined with the silver could almost make one think they were underwater, if not for the enchanted windows.

To put it bluntly, it was cold, and only made worse when Tom Riddle picked his way over to him, students scurrying out his path like a massive wave.

Fantastic. Couldn't this conversation have waited until he wasn't almost dead on his feet?

A few hours ago he had been fighting in a war, and now he was being trapped by the future Dark Lord, the one he had just seen murder hundreds. It wasn't unreasonable to ask Fate for a break, was it?

"I'm afraid I never caught your name?" Tom had a look of polite innocence on his face, but underneath Harry saw the same coldness as he had in his future counterpart.

How no one could believe Tom Riddle became Voldemort was mental, he practically screamed megalomaniac!

"Harry Jameson, and you are?" asked Harry aloofly, leaning nonchalantly against the wall - He had been trying to get to the Dorm before the interrogation began. Apparently he had no luck in this time period either.

"Tom Riddle," replied Tom curtly, "As the Sixth Year prefect if you require any assistance come and address your issues with me."

"I think I can manage find on myself thanks," said Harry coolly, and he saw Tom's face tighten a fraction.

"Regardless, the offer is there." Tom swept past him, joining his friends - if you could call them that - by the fireplace.

Harry tried not to smirk as he ascended the stairs to the Dormitory, too tired to really care how rude this was. He could feel half of the Snakes bristling at his snub, and more than a few were confused about his exchange with Riddle.

_'Let them be, it isn't like I'll be here long,'_ Harry thought, before drifting into a restless slumber.

* * *

><p>Abraxus could see his Lord getting more and more angry as his short conversation with the new kid rolled around in his mind.<p>

Personally he couldn't see why. Yes, the new kid obviously didn't understand the hierarchy, but that just gave them all a reason to shun him, instead of having to feign politeness to someone as weak looking as him.

He looked like he was going to collapse before he even made it to the Dormitory! It was an incredibly poor show, and an even worst first impression.

The runt showed his emotions like a Hufflepuff, and displayed them with less grace than a Gryffindor.

The young Malfoy would be surprised if he lasted here more than a month.

Still, his Lord seemed interested in him, and Tom didn't react like this for no one.

This boy was special, but it seemed only Tom saw why.

* * *

><p>Cygnus was trying to avoid his Lord's gaze, focusing on the Daily Prophet longer than he should really need to.<p>

No such luck.

"Cygnus, is there something you need to share with us, or is your interest in Celestina Warbeck purely a phase," Tom's sharp voice made the blood freeze in Cygnus's veins, and the whole Common Room turned to them.

"No, my Lord," replied Cygnus hastily, feeling his Lord's glare descend upon him, and shuddering minutely.

"You mean it_ isn't_ a phase?" asked Tom sweetly, the words coming out as a hiss.

"No, my Lord, I have no interest in the old wench," Cygnus could feel the fury simmering in the air and fought the urge to cower.

"Good, I would hate to think you were becoming soft," Tom's voice had taken on a certain aloofness, and Cygnus breathed a sigh of relief as his Lord redirected his attention back to the book in his lap, the anger curbed for now.

* * *

><p>They had all faced the brunt of their Lord's anger, but Avery couldn't understand for the life of him where this had came from.<p>

Surely his exchange with the boy hadn't riled him that much?

Regardless, he was glad he wasn't Cygnus right now. Their Lord's disdain for love and anything pertaining to it made Madam Warbeck and any affiliation to her weak in his eyes.

It was one of the more subtle things he had noticed about Tom over the years. His remarks, although veiled, could have cutting undertones, and for a Black to be called weak... He could already see the shame coating his friend's shoulders.

It would be unbecoming to blatantly attack in the Common Room, and Tom had picked up on this within a few moments of arriving.

He wondered how long it would take the new boy to figure it out.

* * *

><p>Harry was a complete Gryffindor. To think about antagonising his Lord like that! Lestrange could feel the anger - and rightful too - emanating from Tom, and seeing Cygnus try not to flinch at his cutting remarks made him want to smirk.<p>

As Tom's first friend here, he knew him better than anyone in this room. His reaction, whilst extreme, was justified, and yet he saw his friends wondering why.

Surely it was obvious! The Half-blood - there was no way he was a Pureblood, or Mudblood - had snubbed his Lord! No one did that... He recalled the third year transfer Feris Burbeck and corrected his statement.

No one did that with no consequences.

He smiled slightly. This year was starting off well.

* * *

><p>When Harry had first entered that's when Tom recognised it.<p>

Pure, undiluted power.

He wanted it, and as he made his way over to Harry, he had expected the boy would register his as well. Recognise him as the same.

Instead, the brief chat had shown him the newest Snake had the brains and social graces of a Lion.

How disappointing.

However, the anger he felt at this was disconcerting. He had been ignored, his power unregistered by the green-eyed boy.

No one with half a brain did that to him.

Cygnus had been an easy target. He needed to re-assert his authority - he found little reminders every now and then benefited everyone.

Turning back to his book, he leafed through the pages, his eyes scanning with the speed of someone who did this a lot.

It was clear the boy was a Half-blood. No one could come into Hogwarts this late, and be automatically put into Sixth Year with the skills of a First Year, his magic alone would have been less controlled if that had indeed been the case. Other than that, his gait and mannerisms definitely ruled out Pureblood.

Two Half-bloods, each with almost matched raw magical power.

It was enticing, and if he could shape him together they would be unstoppable.

However, the way he had moved, it was with a bone-weariness that hinted at more than his casual posture showed outwardly. His face too looked strained when he had approached, and yet his eyes had burned with something undefinable...

He could have just looked into his mind to see why, but the Heir loved puzzles, and doing that would be cheating.

Still, it was an option if the boy continued to resist.

Tom almost laughed out loud at how ridiculous a notion that was.

* * *

><p><em>AN: The response to this is just gob smacking! I can't thank you enough, but I hope this speedy update suffices. _

_Really not sure about this chapter. :S I'm not really sure how well I portrayed the Death Eater's there, but I hope that gives more of an insight into them - I've tried to base some of their personality on traits their relations show in the canon. The next chapter should be better... _

_Some of you reviewed anonomously, and so I can only reply here:  
><em>

_Gvslp - Tom is meant to be a little unhuman. In 1943 he is entering the phase where he begins to make horcruxes, and essentially becoming Voldemort, and I can't see anyone doing that who isn't a little dehumanised. :) _

_Sylvie - Thank you, I'm glad you like it!  
><em>

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. :'(_


	4. Chapter 4

When Harry walked into the Great Hall that morning, he had to force himself to walk to the Slytherin table.

Even on the fringes it was easy to see the chatter around Tom Riddle was strained. Either the Heir never noticed how tense everyone was around him, or he never cared. Harry suspected it was the latter, and felt himself mildly curious as to what had transpired.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee - he had became addicted to it when studying for his OWL's, much to Hermione's disapproval - he felt himself come slowly to life.

He had always been at the centre of attention back in Gryffindor. It was oddly nice to have some peace and quiet, although part of him was curious as to why the Slytherin's weren't asking him any questions.

Had he really made that bad an impression as not to warrant any interest?

Probably.

Harry mentally shrugged. It wasn't like he would be hanging around in this time period for long. He could even feel the cool metal of the Time-turner resting against his chest. His one last remnant of home reminding him how easily it would be to slip out of this year and into another.

It was comforting, but bittersweet all the same.

54 turns would take him a year before it happened. He could see his friends happy, not caring about the future, their thoughts only on exams, and maybe the next Quidditch match.

They would be _alive_.

It would be so easy to go back, to see their faces one more time. However, if he succeeded here, he could see them again regardless. He just had to wait.

Numbly he accepted his timetable from Slughorn. The Head of House, much to Harry's relief, wasn't interested in him, merely offering a 'Good luck' before moving on to the next pupil.

At least there were small mercies in this time period.

Then he saw he had Defence Against The Dark Arts first.

The one class he knew Tom Riddle would definitely be in.

Brilliant.

* * *

><p><em>'How did he ever think he could kill the Dark Lord?'<em> and '_This was not a good idea,'_were only some of the thoughts crossing Harry's mind, as Riddle gave the class a demonstration.

In sharp contrast to him was Professor Merrythought, her wizened face grinning from behind too big spectacles at who she deemed her protégé.

The demonstration in question was only a shield charm, but Harry could feel the raw magic pulsing beneath the relatively simple spell.

Quite simply, he was screwed.

Partly he wondered if he was the only one who could feel this. Maybe years of duelling Voldemort had maybe left an imprint of his magical signature on his psyche? Or maybe everyone was just used to it even?

Still, Harry wondered how anyone could get used to that. The hairs on his arms stood right up to attention, and it was only through will power alone he never automatically started firing spells in response.

A girl in the front row was almost drooling for Merlin's sake! How was that power attractive? It pretty much triggered every 'Fight or Flight' emotion in his body, surely it was the same for her?

The wink she shot the Heir as he sat down made Harry doubt this somewhat.

The rising nausea in his stomach made him glad he hadn't eaten at breakfast.

"Now class, Mr Riddle just gave an excellent demonstration of the Shield Charm - ten points to Slytherin. Find a partner, and practice this using stunners only! Remember, the incantation is protego. Chop, chop!"

Harry looked around, seeing everyone join off into pairs. A small twinge of sadness resounded in his chest, as he remembered these lessons with Ron and Hermione.

Here he had no one. He was just the new boy.

The Time-turner grew a little more tempting.

"Harry," came a cold voice from behind him, and he turned, seeing Riddle staring at him expectantly.

Shit. No partner was better than this!

"Tom?" Harry injected a question into his voice, seeing with delight the Heir's posture stiffen in response.

"I believe you need a partner," Tom's voice was polite, but Harry the undertones made Harry's stomach drop a bit.

"I can find one myself," he replied hurriedly, the urge to get away from the prefect only amplifying as the conversation dragged on.

"You already have one." The authoritative tone in Riddle's voice would have been hard to miss, and Harry saw a few of the Death Eaters look confused, before concealing it quickly behind their Pureblood masks.

"Great." Harry was sure Riddle picked up on the nervous twinge in his voice, for the elder's eyebrows raised slightly, before nodding, and moving back so they could duel.

"Remember, it's protego, Harry," and Harry chose to ignore the semi-patronising tone, opting for a defensive stance instead.

Riddle smirked, sending a stunner his way with a lazy flick of his wand. Automatically Harry raised his own, the spell already on his lips.

Tom's only response was to fire another.

And another.

By the time the lesson ended, Harry felt like a had went eight rounds with the Basilisk.

Tom looked relatively unruffled, but their was a gleam in his eyes that Harry decided very quickly he didn't like.

When Professor Merrythought dismissed them, he saw her eyes land approvingly on him.

He guessed not everyone paired with the Heir could keep up.

Shaking it off, he left the classroom, following a gaggle of Gryffindors to Potions, and feeling Tom's eyes on him the whole way.

The guy could seriously get a job as a professional stalker.

That is if world domination didn't work out.

* * *

><p>It was during Potions Harry decided on his game plan.<p>

From what he knew of Riddle, he collected people based on power, and only surrounded himself with the best.

Surely if he was mediocre in everything he would be ignored? Then when the time came to kill him, it could be a surprise attack.

Simple, right?

It was only after he got a lecture from Slughorn about Potions safety that Harry realised blowing up his cauldron wasn't the best start.

Still, it got Riddle's attention, and as he left the classroom, he heard Malfoy - there was no mistaking the blond hair - whispering how idiotic he was, the rest of the Death Eaters chuckling at it.

Looks like a good start.

* * *

><p>By the end of the week, Harry was getting so many pitying looks from his teachers he found it almost amusing.<p>

Dippet had even sent him a note asking if he needed counselling.

He probably did, but not for escaping the Air Raids.

The nightmares were as bad as ever, he was just glad none of the Slytherin's had noticed how heavily he had warded his bed.

They may just be teenagers, but that never made them any less capable of causing harm.

Still, it appeared Riddle had lost all interest in him, and as he sat with Nathan and Dimanda, he almost felt like this was normal.

The two fifth years had taken pity on him and on day three finally spoken to him.

They were lovely, and Harry could see that, but they weren't Ron and Hermione, and he couldn't help but compare.

"The first Quidditch match is coming up in a few weeks, it's Slytherin against Ravenclaw," said Nathan happily, buttering a piece of toast.

"I've heard that Lupin has been planning a new strategy all summer," chimed in Di, running her fingers through her strawberry blond hair, trying to make it resemble less of a haystack.

"Who's Lupin?" he asked, feeling his interest rise a little.

As far as he was concerned he was here for a job, but if he could meet any of his friends ancestors it would be a pretty cool bonus.

"Andrew Lupin, he's the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Complete bookworm, but since he was made captain the team has gotten better," replied Nathan bitterly.

"Oh, okay," Harry said, pretending to have lost interest. Di and Nathan exchanged a worried glance. All they knew was that he had lost his family, and so they never questioned when he withdrew. Probably thought it was part of the healing process.

They couldn't be further away from the truth.

However, it was a slight comfort to know he had a link, no matter how small, to his friends.

Maybe there was a Potter here too?

No, he shouldn't speculate on that. He wouldn't be here long enough to know them, and if he did it could wreck the timeline more than he planned on doing.

Still, it was nice knowing they were here too.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you so much for the response to this! I'm sorry this is later than I had planned, I have three essays to write for next weekend, so my fanfiction time should be non-existent - although I couldn't resist writing a little of this, and somehow cobbled together a chapter… Why can't I do that with my essays? Updates should be weekly, but I will always try to update faster than that. :)_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. *sigh*_

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Bluebird - Thank you! I'm happy you're enjoying this so far! :D_


	5. Chapter 5

Tom hadn't felt this angry in a long time. His knuckles were bleached white with the grip he had on his wand, the familiar thrum of his magic flowing through his arm almost comforting, but not as comforting as the screams of his target.

She was a Sixth Year Slytherin, her make-up done with as much care as a monkey now smeared through tears and sweat.

It was pitiful.

He had seen her eyeing him in DADA. Somehow he never thought this was what she had in mind when had asked her to accompany him on a walk. Far from it in fact, if the giggles her friends let our were anything to go by.

They were imbeciles. There only purpose to create more Purebloods as pathetic as themselves. He almost felt sorry for them at their lack of real purpose.

Well, he had given Dresilda a purpose now. Being an outlet for his rage was something at least.

He had found the Room Of Requirement in First Year. He had put it to use not long after that, finding books that wouldn't be on the reading list for someone his age without the risk of investigation, before eventually using it to practice.

Dresilda let out another sob, her frantic cries to release her falling on deaf ears.

He was bored of her already.

Lifting the crucio, she curled up in a ball, too pain ridden to run. He smiled coldly at her, a predatory smile, and she flinched back, her sobs growing more hysterical as the seconds passed.

Waving his wand over her, he barely paid attention to the complex patterns he weaved. Her pain dealt with, she looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with yet more tears.

"T-Thank you," she stammered.

"Be quiet silly girl," snapped Tom, seeing her grow still once more. "Obliviate!"

Her eyes turned dreamy, unfocused orbs paying him only slightly attention. Now came the tricky part. Modifying memories wasn't easy, but in a way this was practice, and so he never minded exerting this effort on this simple cretin.

All she would know was their walk, him leading her to an unmappable room, a passionate encounter, before he said he had to meet his friends.

It would give her attention, and show his superiority. He never knew why all the students lusted after her, she was hardly attractive, but he always got the best, and she was deemed it - by the majority at least.

Levitating her, he opened the door to the room, before lowering her into the corridor before casting an invisibility charm and lacing it with her vitals - it would expire as soon as she woke up. She would regain consciousness, wonder if it was a dream or not, whilst remaining oblivious to what exactly had transpired.

Closing the door once more, he headed back into the room. He had chosen the Slytherin Common Room, and stretched lazily out on the couch. He would never do this in the actual Common Room, but closing his eyes, he revelled in the feeling of security for a few moments.

Now time to focus on the problem.

Harry was infuriating! He could sense the power, even in their first DADA lesson he knew the boy had potential. Now he was just mediocre. His effort in classes declined rapidly, and now he was just scraping by - even then it was barely. The rest of the House shunned him, barely registering his existence. And still, the boy wasn't fazed. He seemed to almost revel in their annoyance with him.

He was far more puzzling than he had first imagined, and this was both irritating, and fascinating.

Right now, irritation was winning, however.

He was better than that! His potential was being wasted, and he was a fool for letting it be so! He felt his anger bubbling again and took a steadying breath.

Perhaps he was just academically challenged. He seemed to excel at practical initially, but in theory his aptitude was extremely deploring. But no, even then he wouldn't have been able to hold him off for as long as he did in their first Defence lesson, before declining as quickly as he did.

So he wasn't just thick.

The only other option was that he was hiding something. He wasn't remarkable, other than his power he would have just blended in right away. Still, he recalled the weariness he had seen in the boy upon their first meeting.

It would take more than a train ride and a few bombs to make someone look that ragged - certainly he would know.

The dark circles under his eyes also told him he wasn't sleeping. It was possible that there were residual affects of the bombing, and he was just of extremely weak character to let it affect him as such. He had seen it before in First Years he had to aid in his role of Prefect, but Harry never struck him as the type.

There were so many conflicting personality traits that he had witnessed he was beginning to question his initial impression.

His Lion was acting more and more like a Snake.

There was only a matter of time until he slipped up, and he would be watching, but most of all waiting.

* * *

><p>It had been just over two weeks since his impromptu time travel and already Harry had a reputation.<p>

Being known as the 'Dunce of Slytherin' wasn't too bad, right? It was certainly better than The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Mostly people ignored him, he was surprised Di and Nathan had stayed with him so long. The two attempted to teach him the material, despite being in the year below him, and even then he pretended not to get it, much to their frustration.

Although it wasn't all bad, he at least got no attention from Riddle now. The first week he thought it may have been a play, the Heir trying to figure him out from afar, but no, after two weeks of silence he was quite happy.

Now he could plan.

He had been spending time in the Room of Requirement. Riddle's demonstration in DADA had really made it hit home how unprepared he was. All he could really use were dummies, but even that was better than an inanimate object.

It was also a necessity. His poor performance in classes didn't require much power, and by the end of the first week he could feel his magic thrumming restlessly, needing to do something.

He managed to avoid Di and Nathan again by telling them he needed some time by himself. He never thought they minded much, the sexual tension between the two was almost unbearable.

It was already dark outside, his work having been done long ago - it was surprising how quick it could be finished when he never cared what he got! - and all he could hear was the sound of his own footsteps.

Before he wouldn't have thought it was eerie. Now, however, he was in the castle with the future Dark Lord with a basilisk somewhere beneath his feet that at some point this year would be released. Eerie didn't quite cover it.

Quickening his pace, he moved swiftly through the corridors-

SMACK!

And ran head first into Tom Riddle.

Shit!

* * *

><p>Tom frowned, looking down at the boy who had just pelted into him, the door of the Room of Requirement having faded into the brickwork moments prior.<p>

It appeared he wouldn't have to wait that long after all.

"Harry," he said curtly, seeing the boy's pupils dilate, his face rapidly draining of colour.

"Tom," came the cool reply, and the Heir noted the difference between his tone and his physiological reactions.

"It has came to my attention that you are lagging behind in classes, I would be happy to offer extra tuition," he made his tone a little friendlier, using the same voice that had turned students to putty in his hands.

It appeared it never worked on Harry. Curious.

"I think I'll be fine-" Harry started.

"I think you will not. I cannot stand by and let a member of my House fail. Not only is it bad for our reputation, but the reputation of our Founder." No one could deny him on that, and it appeared Harry saw that for the boy gulped visibly.

"Only if you're sure, I know you're busy," mumbled Harry, his eyes darting to the floor.

"I never make offers I won't see through," replied Tom coldly, "I think it would be prudent to start as soon as possible. Would tomorrow night suit?"

"Um… Sure… I need to go and, ah, study now," said Harry, before turning and practically sprinting back down the corridor.

Walking in the other direction, Tom barely glanced at the body of Dresilda, her mind still recovering from it's intrusion minutes prior, and her body still hidden beneath his layered spells.

No, his mind was on other things, from the dramatic change in Harry's body language, as if he was forcing himself to act intimidated, to the unmistakable fear that he showed upon unexpectedly running into him.

It was interesting, and already he felt questions forming in his mind.

Maybe tomorrow he would get his answers.

* * *

><p>Harry hurried back down the corridor, eager to get away from the Heir, and not really caring where he went.<p>

He never believed for one moment that the future Dark Lord bought his submissive attitude. Two weeks of work ruined because of one unprepared encounter.

Brilliant.

However, now he had an opportunity. Tom would want to tutor him in private so he could try and get information on who he actually was. He wouldn't be the first - Dippet's introduction of him having opened the floodgates of unwanted questions - but he would be the only one who might succeed.

Although he still had surprise on his side. There was no way Tom would know his magical capabilities, and whilst that was a small advantage, it was better than having nothing.

The time-turner weighed heavily against his chest, as he realised tomorrow this time he could be home, away from the politics of Slytherin House, and back where he belonged.

Now he just needed a strategy.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Again thank you so much for your reviews, there was a little less than last time so I hope you're all still happy, but I'm just happy to get such a positive response! I hope this chapter was alright, I'm speeding up to their first proper encounter, and any thoughts you have on how it should go will be appreciated._

_Please review, they seriously make my day and let me know if I'm going on the right track!_

_DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Harry Potter. *sigh*_

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Bluebird - Haha, I'm glad you found it funny, personally I think it would be a smart career change!_

_Anon - Thank you, I hope this one met your expectations._

_Evanthe - Glad you're enjoying it so far! Thank you!_


	6. Chapter 6

For once Harry never had to try to not pay attention. So far all he had been able to do was turn his hedgehog's spines pink, not the feathers they were supposed to be.

The lesson was meant to be about how to turn a seemingly offensive weapon into something relatively harmless. Yesterday had been knives, today was live matter, and so far he was failing miserably.

Dumbledore glanced at him, electric blue eyes seeing for a moment that this was, for once, genuine, before a frown settled on his normally cheery features.

Even the hedgehog was looking at him sadly for Merlin's sake!

Still, he was perfectly aware of the ever present gaze of Riddle on his back and he could only compare it to a laser guided missile.

One false move, and goodbye Harry!

It was hardly a surprise when Dumbledore asked him to stay behind. Some of the Slytherin's threw him pitying looks, and in the Snake Pit that was worse than any barb or jibe. Pity meant weakness, but for once Harry was fine about that being directed at him. It meant his ruse was succeeding. However, he couldn't ignore the particularly searching look the Heir sent him, the scrutinising making him both uncomfortable, but also slightly worried.

He was buying it, right?

Dumbledore closed the door of the classroom, cutting off the chatter in the hall and snapping him out of his reverie. One flick of his wand later and all the hedgehogs resumed their original appearance and one by one were lifted into a wooden crate.

It was rather funny seeing flying hedgehogs, but any amusement Harry felt died when he saw the future Headmaster's troubled expression.

"Harry, is there anything you need to tell me?" asked the auburn haired man, and Harry was suddenly taken back to another time when an older Dumbledore asked the very same question.

And just like that time, he lied.

"No, everything is fine, Sir," Harry adopted a cheery tone, and though Dumbledore was clearly not convinced, he nodded anyway, for once respecting his privacy. Yet another sign that this Dumbledore didn't know him at all.

He left the classroom quickly after that, leaving the Professor with undoubtedly more questions, whereas he only had one.

Why did he lie?

Logically Harry should have told Dumbledore of his meeting with Tom tonight. It was part of the war effort, and, well, it was Dumbledore. If anyone could save him it was the wizard he had just said goodbye to.

Apparently all common sense had left the building.

Although this was personal. He was right in saying this Dumbledore did not know him. He couldn't understand the situation after a few minutes with his future self, who at that point was about a hairsbreadth away from being killed. All he knew was that his suspicions about Tom Riddle were right, but Harry had no idea what his suspicions had been, and what action he thought that merited.

This Dumbledore probably thought killing him wasn't the best idea.

How much help could he expect from the wizened wizard if this was the case?

Harry sighed, his thoughts were just jumbling around in his head, not really getting anywhere. The fact of the matter was that he was on his own when it came to meeting Tom tonight.

He gulped. Tonight? How would he know if Riddle had somehow deduced who he was and his purpose in that time period? The Heir was supposedly brilliant, and everything he had seen so far had backed that up. This could be a trap, and he was completely unprepared - although part of his mind found the idea that one day's training in preparation for this meeting would somehow give him the magical ability to defeat the future Dark Lord laughable.

But then how could Riddle know who he was? Time-turners were undetectable, fuelled by the wearers magical core. There would be no abnormal magical signatures coming from him, and he had been careful to avoid all situations with the Heir so far making the chance less likely.

Brilliant was one thing, but omniscient was another thing entirely, and he doubted Riddle possessed that god-like quality.

Probably liked to think he did though.

* * *

><p>Why was it when you wanted time to slow down it just sped up? It seemed like moments ago he had been eating breakfast, now he was outside of a disused classroom. A disused classroom in the dungeons. Very reassuring.<p>

When Riddle had approached him at breakfast, brusquely telling him to be outside the classroom next to the bust of Barnabus the Belligerent after dinner, Harry could feel rather than see the rest of Slytherin house hold their breath. Di and Nathan had plagued him with questions, and the concern in their eyes when he told them of extra tuition only made the dread in his stomach that little bit bigger.

Regardless, he was here, and apparently that showed the rest of the Snakes that he had no sense of self preservation whatsoever. He had been getting confused and pitiful glances all day, and this alone reminded him that whilst Riddle put on a 'good boy' façade, he was in all actuality a cruel, manipulative psychopath at heart.

He was slightly curious as to how the rest of the Snakes knew that, but their looks were almost as bad as Di and Nathan's, and the angry face of Barnabus was doing nothing to clamp down on his nerves.

It appeared no one thought he had a chance.

The sound of footsteps alerted him to the other's approaching presence, and three intakes of breath later Riddle appeared. Impeccable as usual, his lips curved into what was supposed to be an apologetic smile.

He looked more like a shark surveying it's dinner.

"My apologise for being late, Professor Dumbledore doesn't seem to understand other people have schedules too."

"I only arrived moments ago, it's fine," brushed off Harry, following Riddle into the classroom.

If he thought he was a threat and knew his identity, he wouldn't have turned his back to him, would he?

The classroom was stark. The desks were lined up against the walls, and the windows were encrusted with grime. It was clear that this classroom hadn't been used in a while.

He was in an out of the way place with a psychopath who may or may not want to kill him or torture him into insanity.

Great… and the Darwin Award goes to…

"What are we… ah, doing here?" asked Harry uncertainly.

Riddle smiled again. It was not a reassuring one.

"We are training of course," he replied simply.

And before Harry knew it they were duelling. Tom had recited some spiel about getting to know the strength of his magical core, and through that develop a training program to improve it.

To Harry it sounded like a load of bollocks, and that was basically Riddle's polite way of saying he was a bloodthirsty bastard.

Still, he was in danger, and he could feel his magic flare, crackling in the air dangerously no matter how hard he tried to reign it in. Riddle noted it too, and the spells he fired slowly got more and more advanced.

The Heir certainly never thought he was a dunce now, and his smile grew a little more predatory with every passing minute, sending Harry back to their last encounter, almost fifty years from now.

* * *

><p><em>Cries from the battle field still resounded in his head. He was far from that place, the ruins of Hogwarts hidden from him by the trees. In a way it was a blessing, he never wanted to die hearing his friends and family suffer.<em>

_"Harry Potter," hissed Voldemort, "Come to die."_

_The surrounding Death Eaters laughed, and Harry's fingers curled round his wand even tighter when he saw Hagrid in chains, his beady black eyes pleading with him to run._

_"You don't scare me, Tom," lied Harry, and Voldemort's lipless mouth formed into a smirk._

_"Then you are foolish boy."_

_Voldemort never wanted his Death Eaters interfering. Instead they formed a circle, much like in the Graveyard. The Dark Lord stared him down, red boring into emerald, and to his shame Harry felt his knees shake slightly._

_There was no escape._

_It all seemed to happen at once. Voldemort fired the killing curse, the sound of trees tearing from their roots filled the clearing, and before he knew it Harry was shoved out of the way by the Hogwarts Gamekeeper._

_He blinked once, staring into the now glazed eyes of his first friend._

* * *

><p>Harry shook off the flashback. Now was not a time to concentrate on past - or future? - failure! If he succeeded here, then he could go home. That would have changed, and no one would have died for him.<p>

Doubling his efforts, Harry threw all he had at the Heir. Picturing the battlefield, the destruction in the future, only fuelled his rage, and he could see Riddle's eyes widen at this display, all pretence of incompetence gone in one fatal moment.

However, after throwing off a particularly nasty stinging hex, Harry saw Riddle raise his right hand as he signalled to stop.

All around them was chaos. There were holes burned in the tapestries, the previous occupants glaring at them from a painting of a bowl of fruit - one of the older warlocks was attempting to eat the banana - and one of the windows had shattered, a cold breeze rattling through it making the temperature fall even further. The remains of a few of the desks lay scattered over the floor, and overall Harry was impressed at the fact he was still alive.

Riddle's eyes were like ice as he moved towards him, his movements elegant, but to the trained eye screaming danger all in one.

Feeling like a cornered animal, he knew now without a shred of a doubt that this was a trap, and bitterly he recognised that he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

And so he did the only thing that seemed logical at that moment.

The only thing that would prevent him from slipping up more.

He ran.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I'm sorry this is up later than I had intended, but for some reason the words to this chapter wouldn't come to me at all. I've had about half of this written for about a week and a half, but I wasn't really sure on how to tackle the Tom/Harry portion - I'm still not happy with what I've written to be honest. Anyway, thank you so much for the reviews so far, I love going back and reading them, and that's partly why this chapter finally got finished!_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter :(_

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Bluebird: Phew! I loved writing Tom in that chapter, definitely not something I'm used to doing! I'm happy you still like it, and I'm sorry about the late update, I'll try harder next time. :)_

_Evanthe: Haha, glad you're happy about that! I'll try not to make it so long next time!_

_Saffarinda: That's good to hear! I normally update about once a week, but there will be times like this where it takes about two depending on my workload._


	7. Chapter 7

Tom Riddle wasn't known for being slow.

It was in one moment he registered that this boy was unlike he had imagined.

It was in two he had him on the floor.

A stunner to the back wasn't anything to be proud of, but his toy was running away just when it had gotten most interesting.

The emerald eyes that expressed so much were now shut, but he never needed to see them to realise what he had just witnessed.

Rage. Pure, and all encompassing fury at_ him_.

Why would he feel this emotion? As far as Tom was aware he had done nothing to this boy. The way he was acting it was as if he had murdered his parents in front of his eyes. Over his years at Hogwarts, he was very much aware that people hated him, be it for his looks, his talent, his actions, there was always going to be those who despised him. However, those were petty reasons, and this certainly never fell into that category.

Still, he was puzzled, and for once it delighted him more than frustrated him. This boy was almost his magical equal, if he never knew it before he certainly knew it now. When they had duelled, there was a certain recognition in his eyes, a certain weariness that was not something he had came across before.

The task that was meant to show his dominance unearthed slightly more. This year was shaping up rather nicely.

A small moan emanated from the unconscious boy's lips, but Tom ignored it, his mind too busy seeing the possibilities of such a follower.

Socially he was inept, his performance in the Common Room alone screamed that, but he could be a useful tool, especially in intimidation. Also, if his academic failure was a show, then maybe there was one or two brain cells he could salvage. Not entirely useless in negotiation then. He would be no use for strategy, his approach to staying under the radar about as successful as the Allies at the Somme.

His interest in him would confuse his followers, but that hardly mattered, it wasn't a hard state to achieve in them anyway. Lestrange's reaction would be entertaining. Whilst Abraxus would ponder to himself, and Cygnus and Avery would quite probably question his reasons in private, Lestrange alone would be infuriated enough that he was pushing them to the side to focus on his new pet that it would bleed into the public image. Embarrassing for him, but it would provide another outlet for his anger and frustration at the new boy other than foolish girls who happened to show a fancy in him.

Really, he never built his reputation by picking on girls.

This, however, would also be amusing both at Harry's reaction, and at the response of his followers and admirers, but it would be squandered depending on how he handled it in the next few moments.

Lucky for him he always controlled the playing field.

* * *

><p>Harry's head felt as if there was a bludger inside it, rattling around in his skull trying to find the exit. Opening his eyes, the memory came flooding back, and he was only his feet in a second, his fingers itching to grab his wand.<p>

One check later and his alarm grew when he couldn't find it.

Had he dropped it?

His eyes scanned the floor hungrily, but nothing. Moving his gaze upwards he saw Tom sitting on one of the desks, his posture relaxed, but his expression unreadable. Blue eyes scanned his face, whilst his wand was twirled by long fingers.

He half expected to see Ginny lying on the ground, her life force nearly drained, this scene eerily matching the one in the Chamber all those years ago.

At least the location was a bit better this time.

"Give me my wand, Tom," he croaked, clearing his throat immediately afterwards.

"You won't be needing it," came the simple reply, and Harry felt a chill trickle down his spine as this dialogue mirrored that which they had had in the Chamber in 1993.

"Why?" Harry sculpted his face into the slightly naïve look he had been wearing for two weeks.

"Why did you run away?"

"Why can't I have my wand back?" asked Harry impatiently.

"You cannot answer a question with a question," scolded Riddle, his blue eyes sparkling with cold amusement.

"You did, therefore you broke your own rule. Give. Me. Back. My. Wand." snarled Harry, feeling very much like a cornered animal once more. He had already tried 'Flight' maybe 'Fight' would work better?

All 'Fight' got was a laugh from Tom. Unlike his harsh, high-pitched laugh in the future, this was warmer, but Harry suspected the amusement was about as genuine as Trelawney's skill at Divination.

"Rules are merely there to control the weak," replied Riddle. "However, you are not weak, are you?"

It was phrased as a question, but Harry could see just from these few words that he had been found out. In one fatal moment he had destroyed all he had built in those two weeks, just because he couldn't differentiate the cruel boy here from the skeletal figure he became.

"It depends on your definition of weak," answered Harry carefully, mapping out the distance there was between him and the door.

Six paces. There was no way he could make that whilst being defenceless, and there was also no way he was letting Riddle keep his wand.

"I'm not here to discuss semantics," dismissed Riddle sharply, "When we duelled, I was able to see that you have incredible potential, potential that is being locked away by the inflexible curriculum that Hogwarts offers."

"And what do you propose?" Harry was quite simply baffled as to where this was going. Wasn't this supposed to be the part where Riddle read his mind and killed him? His pitiful Occlumency shields had felt no intrusion, another thing that was different from this Riddle and his future counterpart.

"I want to train you," Riddle smiled his 'shark' smile once more, and Harry tried not to shudder.

This was better than dying. Right?

"Here?" Harry pretended to look around, his heart hammering in his chest so hard he could hear the blood thundering in his ears.

"No, I have a better place, a more private one for the types of magic we shall be doing. Do you accept?" Riddle's eyes were unyielding as they bore into Harry's emerald ones.

Not knowing what else he could say, Harry merely said, "Yes."

Riddle moved elegantly off the desk, long, quick strides taking him up to Harry, "Excellent, I shall draw up a program and notify you when I have time," Harry felt the smooth holly of his wand be pressed into his hand. "I expect you to sit with me at breakfast tomorrow, however, I will not be seen to be with a wizard unfavourable to Slytherin, and your status is somewhat desiring improvement."

Harry could hear the order a mile away_. 'Stop being a dunce, I already know you aren't, there is no point in carrying it on.'_

And with that Tom left, leaving Harry wondering if he had just taken the first steps into becoming a Death Eater.

The joke would be on Riddle if he thought that would ever happen.

* * *

><p>Leaving the classroom, it felt alien turning his back on such a powerful opponent, and his fingers curled around his wand handle, spells both offensive and defensive already dancing on his tongue.<p>

No attack came.

Either Harry was stupefied, or he was actually interested in his offer. Interesting...

If there was one thing this encounter had shown him, it was that there was brains behind the garish spectacles. His responses, whilst limited, were intriguing, and Tom had to confess it had been quite some time since he had experienced that level of enjoyment through words alone.

Passing by a Third Year Hufflepuff, he smiled at her, trying not to smirk as she sped up her pace, the clatter of her shoes against the stone marking her haste to get away. It was rather funny how they always did that, but as he quickly found out when he first came, there are two roles.

Predator and Prey.

Now it was time to see how Harry reacted when he was surrounded by the former. He was quite looking forward to it.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I want to apologise for the delay in this chapter, and for the quality - I may go back and re-write it if you hate it. I'm in the middle of moving, I have my sister's wedding this weekend, I had exams, and my boyfriend and I broke up. To sum it up, it's been a really bad month, and I haven't been in the mood to write. I'll try and get up to date on replies to reviews in the next couple of days, I appreciate every one of them though, and they've really cheered me up this month. Things will have settled down by next week, and regular updates should come then, I am sorry about my neglect this month, real life isn't fun sometimes!_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. :(_

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Evanthe: Sorry! I couldn't resist!_

_Bluebird: Haha, thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it! I started out as a humour writer, it's almost impossible not to include little bits here and there. :)_

_Anon: Who doesn't? ;)_

_Saffarinda: Thank you! :) It will be once my life settles down, I can't say sorry enough though._

_SilverChaser11318: Thank you! Me neither! ;)_

_John: This fic won't turn into slash, it's meant to be a challenge and I've written that before. :)_


	8. Chapter 8

Entering the Great Hall it was almost natural for him to head to the Slyherin table. What wasn't natural, however, was sitting next to Riddle. Cygnus had vacated his usual seat to Riddle's left, moving a seat down, and that acted just as good as a _'This seat is reserved for Harry Jameson' _sign in telling Harry this was where he was meant to sit.

"Good morning," he said politely, feeling the cold eyes of Abraxus Malfoy brush over him, the weight of his gaze heavier than that of his predecessors, and certainly more calculating. He possessed the famed aristocratic features of the Malfoys, and with his long, ebony hair swept back by a leather band at the nape of his neck, he could almost be mistaken for his son if it wasn't for that gaze.

The rest had their eyes trained on Riddle. Not fearful, not subservient. Each Death Eater met his eyes evenly, and it was only in subtle looks or changes in posture that hinted at any hierarchy being present. It was quite amazing that Riddle had kept his empire so secret, and yet, seeing the Heir's masks for himself, it was unnerving how sincere and innocent a future mass murderer could make himself appear.

"Morning," replied Riddle, reaching over to grab the pot of tea. So Voldemort preferred tea over coffee. At least he was learning a little more about the teenage Dark Lord, even if it was only his beverage preference. "Now, I believe some introductions are in order, you have certainly been keeping a low profile," Harry knew the Slytherin code well enough to recognise the jibe. Resisting the urge to rise to it, he nodded politely throughout the introductions, and the group never warmed to him in the slightest.

If they were on a boat and one had to be tossed off, he was pretty sure he knew who the unlucky sod would be.

Lestrange was as haughty as his predecessors. His eyes were as black as charcoal, but contained none of the warmth. His posture angled him so that he was almost facing Riddle, and from his place as his right hand side it never took a genius to realise that he considered himself the most important.

Cygnus was a welcomed change. His hair was immaculate, but his eyes contained a certain youthfulness that he had seen in Sirius's before his Godfather was incarcerated in Azkaban. Looking around, Harry realised that whilst he was too late to meet Walburga - now there's a pity! - Alphard would probably be at Hogwarts now. Sure enough a few seats down he spotted what could only be described as Sirius's double, laughing with a girl who's most obvious feature was her hooked nose - a relative of Snape's perhaps?

Avery reminded Harry very much of his father and Lupin. He had the good looks of a Pureblood, but his book bag looked as if it were about to burst. He was arguing over Quidditch with someone who looked to be a relative of Pansy's. It seemed the pug look was just one of those unfortunate genes, and along with the simpering glances at Riddle, it took Harry a moment to realise it wasn't the girl herself.

The other names and faces were a blur, and trying to collect his thoughts he poured himself a cup of coffee, seeing Riddle's nose wrinkle at the bitter aroma.

"If you require caffeine to keep you alert, I would hate you to be attacked upon awakening," commented Riddle, and the Death Eaters chuckled.

"If winning required my opponent to attack me upon awakening, then he cannot be that much of a threat in the first place," replied Harry coolly, feeling a few of the Slytherins bristle at this.

Apparently talking back wasn't a done thing. Thankfully he had never really been one for following traditions in the first place.

"Indeed, I believe I do not know any wizard or witch who would lower themselves to that," said Riddle coldly, his eyes flashing up to those in his Inner Circle.

If he told all of them not to attack him in his sleep, that meant he liked him. Right?

"Nor do I, but I would not put it behind that Gryffindor lot," said Avery, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

"I heard that they turned Potter's hair green in his sleep. Apparently he lost a bet," gushed Parkinson.

Harry's stomach lurched at the mention of his grandfather, and he scanned the Gryffindor table for a shock of green hair. It wasn't hard to find, and in that instance he turned, and Harry found himself staring in the eyes of one of his ancestors. The boy's eyes widened slightly, before he was tapped on the shoulder by a boy who looked a lot like Remus, and Harry surmised this was his father John, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Whatever John said to him must have been funny, for Potter grinned, a smile that reminded Harry so much of his father, before turning back to his friends, the moment forgotten for him, but not for his grandson.

"Well if it was for a bet, then that is a different matter," reasoned Abraxus, "I believe most of us here have done ridiculous things as a result of petty games." The blush that Parkinson sported after that told Harry that more was being referred to here, but he couldn't really care for the moment.

He had just seen his grandfather.

He remembered Sirius calling him Charlus. His grandparents had almost adopted Sirius into the family, and it was easy to see that part of the mischief the young Marauder caused was inspired by another generation.

To put it honestly, he looked ridiculous, and it took all the strength Harry possessed not to grin like a madman.

* * *

><p>He had Defence Against the Dark Arts first, and he felt more than saw the shock of class as Tom motioned for him to sit next to him.<p>

Apparently he had put on an impressive performance at breakfast.

Today they were to learn how to produce painful boils on the skin of their opponent. This was only another reminder of how different Hogwarts was under a different Headmaster. Instead of humans, however, they were expected to practice on mannequins, lights on their chest indicating if they had cast it correctly.

The incantation was 'Tergeo erumpo' and ever mindful over Riddle's 'suggestion' the night before, he threw all pretence of incompetence out of the window.

He could see the shock on Merrythought's face as he performed the curse the first time. The light on the dummy's chest glowed green, eerily similar to the killing curse, far brighter than any of his classmates.

Harry's eyes met Riddle's and the Heir nodded slightly, tilting his jaw in a way that could only be read as approval.

The other Death Eaters eyes widened at the display, and Harry was surprised that their jaws never dropped when the strength of Riddle's spell matched his.

The pleased looked on Riddle's face did not go unnoticed by Harry, and he felt unease creep into his stomach.

Riddle wanted to make him a Death Eater, and that above anything else meant that he was being watched. Voldemort had shown a meticulousness that he could see was even present in his young counterpart after knowing him a few weeks. He just hoped that the documents Dumbledore had given to his past self would be enough to satisfy the Heir, and prevent him finding any flaws in his identity.

Maybe the saying 'When one door closes another opens' wasn't such a good one. It seemed that when one problem was dealt with, another would appear, and dealing with that one was like chopping a head off the hydra.

Sighing, he consoled himself with that fact that anyone would think twice before attacking him in his bed now.

At least that was one problem down.

* * *

><p>It was nearing midnight, and all were asleep. All except him.<p>

He had always been the last to got to be and yet the first to rise.

The Room of Requirement not only used to vent his anger and other undesirable emotions. It was also a place of study. Books that he knew were contained in the Headmaster's private library were strewn out in front of him, tired eyes still taking in and processing the contents.

Ever since he was younger he had had an interest in genealogy. He was different. He was powerful. Even his younger self realised that this meant he had to have a powerful ancestor, and a few short months ago he had discovered he had the most powerful ancestor of them all, the very founder of the House in which he now resides.

This had taken time. His mother had left him a few trinkets, but these were clues to his identity, and whilst he was not thankful for many things, he was thankful that the matron hadn't thrown them out.

Then he would never have discovered his line in the first place.

Searching his ancestry was difficult, many had claimed to be part of the Slyherin line, and with little documentation, it was troublesome finding out which claims were fact, and which claims were merely the work of weak men trying to gain glory on the back of a great name. However, in the past few weeks he thought he had found a genuine part that was missing.

Harry Jameson.

Harry matched him magically. Either this was an almost unbelievable coincidence, or they had a blood relation somewhere in his family tree. He just had to find it.

Pouring over documents, tried to find some record of Jameson, some scrap of history that a wizard bearing that last name had created. It was an arduous task, but if they were related, then perhaps he could be useful, or an even bigger threat than he was now.

He had spent hours at this task, but still nothing. He was used to results being slow, but he couldn't help but feel as if he had the Sword of Damocles over his head. He knew every detail of his Death Eaters history, he couldn't afford to bring someone onboard only for them to have some weakness he was not already informed of.

It appeared that he would have to go back to basics. Selecting a few tomes, he closed them, willing the Room to return them to their respective resting places. Summoning the parchment he had detailed his findings about Slytherin on, he scanned it hungrily, reabsorbing the information that he had been so elated at gathering.

This parchment was proof he was special, proof that he had a right to be one of the pillars in the Wizarding World. If Dumbledore saw this he would quite probably fear him, and he would relish it, savour every droplet of sweat that fell from the aged wizard's head as he squirmed.

By analysing his history, perhaps he would discover the Jameson branch, form a family tree more extensive than the one he had created before the holidays. It was a long shot, but the first method was bringing in nothing, and this would also serve his interests better.

His studies into his own history had reaped many results, but he knew there were more secrets out there. Maybe now he would unearth the rest.

* * *

><p>AN: I was sad to see the review count for the last chapter was a lot lower than the rest, but for the few who did review, I want to thank you, I never thought I would get over 100 reviews for this story! :) This chapter is introducing some of the key concerns of this story, and a few other characters have been introduced too. I want to thank _almanera_, as her review made my mind go into overdrive, connecting dots that otherwise wouldn't have been connected, and so you owe this chapter to her.

If there is anything you would like to see, don't hesitate to tell me, and I'll try and work it in - Although I stress that this WON'T be slash.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter *sigh*

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Ramen God - Thank you, I'm glad you like my Tom (that sounds REALLY weird!) and when Harry gets his bearings, it's not him who I'll be feeling sorry for! ;)_

_Bluebird - Thank you! You boosted my confidence in this chapter considerably! _

_Evanthe - You saw a little bit of their reactions here, but the fallout should be in the next chapter if I follow my mental plan. :)_


	9. Chapter 9

Throughout Transfiguration, he could feel Dumbledore's gaze on him, and it was all he could do not to stab his hedgehog with his wand it was distracting him so much.

Next to Dumbledore's curious glances, he could feel the more unsubtle eyes of Tom boring into the side of his face.

Since being introduced to the Slytherin Hierarchy, he had been around him almost constantly. What was worrying, was that he was getting used to the cold, almost dehumanised presence of the younger Dark Lord. He certainly never liked him, he could hardly tolerate him, but the more he was around him, the better read he would have of him, and so when it was time to act, he might actually stand a chance.

It was still rather troubling that he now referred to him as Tom, however.

Ever since that night, he had noticed more about him than he had from afar with Nathan and Di. For one thing, Tom disappeared a lot. No one really questioned it, and because of that it took him a few days to notice. There was also the fact that Tom was always the last to go to bed, and the first to wake up. The amount of hours where he never knew his whereabouts was alarming, but then he had to stop himself.

The comparison between himself and a fretting girlfriend was not a nice thing for his mind to throw at him.

Over the week, he had found an unlikely friend in Cygnus. He was the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and when he found out Harry had an interest in it, he told him about the tryouts that were coming up. He was meant to be heading to the Quidditch pitch after this to train, but if the look in Dumbledore's eyes were anything to go by, he was most likely going to be late.

He tried not to roll his eyes when he was called back at the end. Tom merely smirked, and he and Abraxus made their way to the Great Hall.

Once everyone had gone, Dumbledore closed the door with a flick of his wand. The hedgehogs were already back in their box, and so the aged wizard merely leaned back on his desk, his blue eyes feeling as if they were x-raying Harry. It wasn't pleasant.

"Harry, I've noticed you seem to be closer to Mr Riddle as of late," Dumbledore peered at him over his half-mooned spectacles.

"Is there a question in there somewhere?" asked Harry, wishing he could just leave already. Ever since he realised he and this Dumbledore may not be on the same page, he had been more wary around him. Tom seemed to approve of this, although he bet he wouldn't if he knew the real reason.

"I'm just concerned for you my boy," even fifty years younger and Harry could still see the concern grandfather image.

"You always told me that to defeat an enemy, you must know his secrets. Riddle would hardly tell me anything we can use unless I played along," said Harry carefully, remembering going through all of Riddle's memories in his sixth year.

"Don't be taken in by him, Harry," warned the aged wizard.

"After all I've been through because of him, I hardly want to be his best friend, Sir," spat out Harry, anger rising at just how naïve this Dumbledore was. The Headmaster would never have presumed him capable of doing that, reinforcing the differences of this Hogwarts from his home.

"I do not mean to offend you, it's just you do not know what Riddle is like-"

"You think I don't know what he is like when he murdered my parents and my best friends?" Harry's eyes narrowed, and his feet itched to take him out the door.

"That was Voldemort, Harry. Tom is entirely different, the game is different, just promise me you will be careful," blue eyes met green, and a short battle of the wills ensued before Harry nodded curtly, leaving the classroom seconds later.

* * *

><p>"Harry!" greeted Cygnus, a grin forming on his face, a broom in his left hand.<p>

"Dumbledore held me up," groaned Harry, his eyes being drawn to the stands where the rest of the Death Eaters and Tom sat. Tom was reading, the epitome of the perfect student. The others were laughing, Avery and Lestrange leering at the Fifth Year girls practicing what seemed to be cheerleading. Abraxus was looking bored, nothing much changing there, and Parkinson - Harry found out her name was Delilah - was shooting glares at Avery and Lestrange, the Fifth Year girls wounding her pride and reminding Harry even more of her granddaughter.

"The old goat likes to get to know his more brilliant students. He used to do the same to Tom when he first arrived here," Cygnus handed Harry the broom, engraved in silver on it was Nimbus 1700. "Abraxus let me borrow his, don't break it."

"I won't. How did Tom get Dumbledore off his back?" asked Harry, moving to the centre of the pitch, Cygnus going to the foot of the stands to get the balls..

"I don't know, just one day Dumbledore never asked him back after class," Cygnus shrugged, tossing the quaffle to Harry, and kicking off. "Pass it to me!"

Throwing the ball at him, Cygnus caught it, and Harry quickly joined him in the air. The Nimbus 1700 was a huge change from the Nimbus 2001, and compared to his Firebolt, it was like replacing a rocket with a paper airplane. Still, it was manageable, and he did a few laps to get used to the change in speed.

"Right, Harry, you need to defend the hoops from the quaffle, think you can do that?" yelled Cygnus, streaking past him to halfway down the pitch.

"Sure!" replied Harry, ascending so that he hovered between the middle and right hoops.

Despite being a relatively nice day, the sun was setting and that decreased visibility immensely. However, the wind was stronger up here, and no matter how much angling Cygnus did, the quaffle would most likely end up in this area.

His logic lasted him the first two tries, but on the third, he saw Cygnus speeding up and knew he would try and score close range. Willing his broom to go faster, he realised that he wouldn't get there in time, and so, in the last second, with a tight grip on his broom, he swung round, his legs making contact with the quaffle with a resounding 'smack' and sending it hurtling in the opposite direction.

When they were back on the ground, Cygnus marched over to him, his face half filled with admiration, and half filled with annoyance.

"You can get yourself killed with stunts like that," he hissed, putting the quaffle back in it's box with a little more force than necessary, "Lets try you with the snitch before you end up in the Hospital Wing."

"I knew what I was doing," muttered Harry, mounting his broom once more.

"I know you did, but for a moment I thought you were going to fall. You should have seen Tom's face!"

Looking up, Harry became aware for the first time that Riddle had put his book away, and was watching them both intently.

"Well at least if I fall it'll distract Avery and Lestrange from those girls, and prevent Delilah's murderous rampage," chuckled Harry, hovering a few feet off the ground.

"I don't think that would stop her," laughed Cygnus, a very Sirius-like grin forming on his face.

In the air once more, he did a few laps again, watching Cygnus holding the snitch, the little golden wings flapping frantically, begging to be released.

And it was off.

Deciding to tackle this by searching in grids, Harry's eyes strained to see the hint of gold. However, he was partly distracted by the heavy gaze of Tom. Even up in the air he could feel his disapproval.

Still, the light was fading rapidly, and Harry knew that if he never found it soon, then he would never find it.

A glimmer of gold caught his attention. It was hovering by the first level of the stands, and lining himself up, he dived.

The Fifth Year girls screamed as he headed towards them, leaping to the side - he thought he saw one do a cartwheel - and as the stands and pitch grew nearer. He was vaguely aware that the Death Eaters had all stood up, and only Tom remained seated, but what he was more aware of was the gold metal ball growing bigger and bigger, and reaching out he grasped it, feeling the wings flutter in vain, trying to escape his grip. In the next moment, he had pulled up, the broom now zooming back into the sky, and the relief in the stands was almost palpable.

After he landed, he was quickly surrounded by Tom, Delilah, the Death Eaters, and the cheerleaders. All of them looked impressed except Tom, and Harry gulped.

"Where did you learn to fly like that?" asked Avery.

"I don't know, I just did it," lied Harry, feigning a look of embarrassment.

"You could have broken my broom-" started Abraxus.

"You're bloody mental!" interrupted Cygnus, "It's brilliant!"

"So, am I on the team?" asked Harry, unable to prevent the grin that was quickly taking over half his face.

"With you, we might be able to win the cup back from Ravenclaw," the look in Cygnus's eyes reminded Harry a lot of the look Oliver Wood used to get when he was planning a Gryffindor victory.

"Harry, a word," Tom motioned for Harry to follow him, the rest of the Death Eaters too distracted by the cheerleaders, and Cygnus gathering up the equipment to really bother.

It was only when they were nearing the Forbidden Forest that Tom started to speak.

"Are you completely and utterly insane?" The question took Harry off guard, and he turned to stare at the Slytherin Prefect. He looked calm, his cold words contrasting with the question he had uttered.

"Last time I checked I was perfectly sane," he replied evenly.

"Last time I checked directing a broom that quickly towards the ground was nothing less than suicide. Do you have a death wish, Harry?" Tom's question was sickly sweet, and Harry could hear the mocking tone behind it.

"Well considering I hang out with you…" Harry knew that such a retort was pushing it, but quite frankly he was tired of everyone doubting him. Was he suddenly completely incompetent?

"I thought being in Slytherin would teach you how to compliment someone. You obviously have as much regard for that as you do your life," remarked Tom coldly.

"Well then why are you still bothering about me? It's clear you don't like me, I'm not some impressionable idiot that will follow your every word. Whatever you want, you won't get!" Harry felt a week's worth of frustration bubble up, and after his tirade he felt oddly better, that was until he saw the almost murderous look on Tom's face.

"Another thing I thought Slytherin would teach you, Harry. I always get what I want," hissed Tom, abruptly turning and heading back to the Quidditch pitch, leaving Harry alone in the dark.

Waiting a few minutes, Harry followed, his mind turning his badly voiced question over and over again.

Why would Tom actually want him as a Death Eater?

What was going on?

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! I was worried you all hated this story now! I've included a little more Death Eater participation in this chapter, and more details about them will emerge in future chapters - they aren't all as open as Cygnus! I hope you've enjoyed this one, and I would appreciate it if you reviewed! :)_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. :(_

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Evanthe: Thank you! I've been trying to uncomplicate my style for some time now, it's nice to know I'm suceeding!_

_Bluebird: I'm really enjoying writing them all actually, it's nice being able to include the Death Eaters more, since Harry and Tom's characters are pretty much established. Tom's research will play a massive part in this plot, so keep an eye out! :) Thank you!_


	10. Chapter 10

Harry tried not to roll his eyes as he entered the Great Hall the next morning. Not only was Dumbledore staring at him a little more intensely than usual, the majority of the Hall - mainly girls he was amused to note - started whispering furiously. The sound was akin to a swarm of bees, their sting just as painful as the glare Tom shot him was probably supposed to be.

Shrugging it off, he sat in his usual place by Tom's left. Reaching for the carafe, he poured himself a cup of coffee, even the smell of it waking him up slightly. Last night had been, for want of a better word, terrible. He had dreamt of them again. Ron being eaten up by fiendfyre, the dead look in Hermione's eyes as Bellatrix tortured her to death in Malfoy Manor.

They had appeared before him in Dumbledore's office, just before he put the time turner around his neck. Ron's burns made Harry wince. In some places the flesh had burned away entirely, leaving gleaming white bone shining in the light of the new born sun.

Hermione's wounds were less obvious, but still there. 'Mudblood' was carved all over her flesh. Some of the cuts were still bleeding. Her joints twitched, something Harry was well aware was the after affects of the cruciatus, and chunks of her hair had been pulled out.

It wasn't just this that horrified him. Looking into their eyes, he could see how hollow they were. It was as if someone had taken their souls and extinguished them, and it was that, beyond the physical maladies that pained him the most.

He had done this.

They told him this. Their voices whispery, shadows of what they once had been. They asked him why he hadn't killed Riddle yet, why he was friends with him, and how they were so easily replaceable.

What hurt him was that he had absolutely no answers.

The next thing he was aware of was his hangings being wrenched open, someone snatching him from his bed and dragging him to the bathroom.

It was only after he was finished vomiting that he realised it was Tom.

Thankfully the Heir was the only one who had woken up because of him. But when Harry looked more closely he realised the young Dark Lord hadn't even been to bed yet. Unless he slept in his robes that is.

To be honest, it wouldn't surprise him.

He hadn't expected a hug, or even a voice of concern. What Tom did was merely cast cleaning charms on him before heading back into the dormitory. When the tremors stopped and Harry eventually made it back through, Tom's hangings were closed, and breaking a sigh of relief he had went back to bed.

For a moment he thought he would avoid Tom asking him about it. Surely if he had questions, he would have asked last night? Although now he wasn't so sure.

Before Tom had a chance to make any remarks, however, Delilah leaned across the table from her seat next to Abraxus, her hand leaning on his arm for a minute, and it took all of Harry's willpower not to wrench his arm away.

"Harry, after that display yesterday you are quite the talk of the school," she fluttered her eyelashes, and Harry tried not to groan.

"Er... thanks," came his reply, mentally wincing at the ineloquence of it.

"Aw, he's embarrassed!" teased Lestrange, his voice sounding too much like Bellatrix's baby impression for Harry's comfort.

"Delilah, Harry does not need nor want your… do you call that flirting?" interjected Tom coldly, his blue eyes frosting over in annoyance.

"Really though Harry, with you we could actually stand a chance this year," grinned Cygnus.

"Just order your own broom," muttered Abraxus. Harry grinned.

"Personally I don't see the fascination with Quidditch," said Tom haughtily.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I doubt you would."

Tom glared at him, and Harry thought he saw his eyes flash red for a moment. Reaching over to grab a piece of toast from the platter next to Avery, he noticed the candlelight glinting off something, and automatically his eyes were drawn to it.

On the index finger of Tom's left hand rested the Gaunt ring.

Harry felt the colour drain from his face, as going by his timeline, that meant Tom had already created a horcrux. If he destroyed Tom, then the horcrux would just take his place. Shit.

Before he killed Tom he would have to kill the horcrux. But how could he separate Tom from it? Unless he subdued him first, somehow got the Sword of Gryffindor or a basilisk fang and destroyed it before he finished off Tom.

As Ron would have said it was bloody mental, and he had about as much chance of coming out alive as Myrtle did of never moaning again.

"I just wouldn't want to risk my life for a mindless sport," replied Tom dismissively, and it took Harry a moment to remember the conversation. He almost laughed at how absurd the notion of Tom's death was now.

It was this reaction that told Harry he was probably going into mild shock.

Brilliant!

* * *

><p>When Tom entered the dormitory before dawn, the last thing he expected to hear was cries coming from Harry's bed. Wrenching the hangings open, he pulled the boy out to the bathroom, recognising the signs of imminent vomiting better than anyone. He really did not have time for this. The ritual had taken more out of his body than he had thought, and he was only able to cast a cleaning charm before making it back to his bed.<p>

He knew Harry would find it odd, him not questioning him on his nightmare, but right now he had more pressing things to think about than another's weakness. And Harry could easily be dealt with later.

Going to Little Hangleton had been more interesting than he had imagined, and funnily enough it was the boy puking his guts out that had led him to it.

Tracing Salazar's line, he had came across the Gaunt family. They were the last known descendents of the Founder, and on a whim he had asked the Room of Requirement to get him all information about them.

It really was a fluke he had found the newspaper article about Merope Gaunt, the weak daughter of a madman.

The fact she was his mother was incredibly displeasing. For a muggle she had given up her magic, only for him to break her fragile heart when she revealed the truth. Muggles were filth, and this only hardened his heart more. He could almost hear her cries as her husband left, too weak to place him under her spell once more. The newspaper articles at the time said his father had claimed Merope had hoodwinked him, but the word magic was never used.

It had taken Tom only a moment to realise what had actually transpired. To say it was magic would have been the final nail in Tom Riddle Senior's coffin. Funnily enough denying the fact that magic existed and that a son had been born out of it would ultimately lead to his death anyway.

Lying in his bed, staring up at the canopy, Tom felt his mind going back to his conversation with Morfin. Then he had been too incensed to realise just how much information the madman had given him. All he had wanted was his father's blood. Now that thirst had been quenched, he started to unravel the other consequences his mother's pitiful life had created for him.

A child born out of a loveless union created through magic couldn't feel love. He had always known he was different, and not just through magic. As the bombs fell and many died, he never cared. Every Summer he had to feign sadness at one death or another, until he couldn't be bothered with the pretence anymore. It wasn't as if acting sad would make anyone think he was any less strange after all.

His uncle only validated this. In the shack that housed the last direct remnants of the Slytherin line - apart from himself - he had learned the truth, and although it had taken time to process, it was fascinating nonetheless.

Normally he would not take the word of a man so clearly lacking in mental clarity, however, his father only served to validate what he had discovered. The old man, looking rather good for his years, had been dining with his parents. The room was vast, the dining table placed in the centre, and the large windows overlooking a cemetery. How fitting.

The shock on his face when Tom made an appearance quickly faded to horror. Oh, how he had begged. Tom felt a smile form on his face at the mere memory. He had even cried! Although it wasn't as if his grandparents had been any better. The old fools had gotten down on their knees and prayed. If they had ever doubted there was a God, at least Tom had given them the answer.

The anger he had felt was surprising, however, although it only made the pain he inflicted with his Uncle's wand much more sweet - although not as pleasant if it had been his own. It was a shame that his grandparents had to die so soon after being subjected to the cruciatus. His father had been a better sport, lasting well into the morning, only for Tom to eventually grow board, his anger spent, and with no regret he cast the killing curse.

After getting the knowledge from the dim-witted Slughorn, it had only been a matter of getting the incantation exactly right. Any flaws and he could have torn his soul to shreds, and he was rather sure that Dumbledore or any Ministry Official would notice if that had happened.

After that, making Morfin believe he had murdered the Riddle's was easier than he would have thought. The madness that afflicted his relation - how he shuddered to use that word - made his mental defences incredibly weak, and it was with ease he implanted the new memory. Not the punishment he would have liked for someone who had disgraced the name of Slytherin as much as he had, but it served it's purpose, and he rationalised that he could just take his anger at this out on some ignorant First Year instead.

Who would have thought that Harry would have led him to all of this?

Not only was he powerful enough to take over the Wizarding World, it was practically entitled to him! In the darkness his right hand felt the ring that rested on his left index finger. A feeling of warmth shot from the once cold stone, and Tom Riddle smiled.

He was invincible. 

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! I'm overjoyed that you're all still enjoying this so far! I'm sorry for the late update. I've been job hunting, having a life, and getting things prepared for my birthday - same day as Harry and a lot of the guests are having to travel, it's a nightmare! However, now that I have found a job, had a life enough to make me want to retreat for a bit, and prepared my birthday as much as I can, the next update will be quicker!  
><em>

_Timeline wise, it was never really said - as far as I'm aware - when Riddle killed his father and grandparents, only that it was in 1943. Considering that Riddle was in muggle London for the Summer, it made more sense to have these murders occur when he was at Hogwarts. As for horcruxes, there are differing opinions over whether the diary was created first, but for the sake of creative license, I asked you to forgive me. Apart from that, if there are any mistakes please let me know. As always I would appreciate it if you reviewed. _

**_IMPORTANT:_ _If you want me to write a one-shot of the murders and that day from Riddle's POV instead of just in key points he remembers, feel free to send me a message or just review. I really wanted to do it in present tense, but just couldn't find a way to make it fit. *sigh*_**

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Evanthe: Sorry! I had hoped I would have an update sooner to surprise you with being unusually quick twice... That obviously did not work out! Harry's questions will be answered, but there are a few more pressing issues now to deal with first!_

_Bluebird: Not a problem. :) I hadn't actually realised how little there was of Harry flying until you pointed it out! I'm glad you enjoyed that scene, and there will definitely be more Quidditch in the future... Or is it past?_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter._


	11. Chapter 11

It was after everyone had gone to bed that Tom cornered him. Harry had expected something like this. The Heir of Slytherin always wanted to know what was happening, even that in the subconscious of his peers.

Harry guessed that saying _'I was just having a nightmare about the death of my friends, the ones that funnily enough you kill in your insane plan to conquer Wizarding Britain.' _wasn't a good idea. Although the look on Tom's face would have been amusing.

The revelation of the horcrux had kept him occupied all day. He doubted he would be able to get into the Headmaster's office and steal the Sorting Hat. He wasn't even one hundred percent sure that the hat would give him the sword - Considering last time he had been in a moment of extreme peril.

All that left was the Basilisk. Although there was a problem with that as well.

It was still alive.

Whilst the prospect of going up against a lethal snake was terrifying, the look on Tom's face at this moment in time was even more so. Harry gulped, feeling somewhat like a child who had done something wrong.

He was just sitting by the fire doing his homework when it happened - only friends of Tom could sit there, and even though he hated the label 'friend', he wasn't going to object to a comfy seat. Tom swooped down gracefully next to him, his eyes scanning Harry's handwriting disdainfully.

"Is that by any chance Slughorn's essay on Polyjuice Potion?" asked Tom, and Harry could feel his stare boring into the side of his face. It really was a talent.

"Er, yeah," replied Harry, scratching out the last sentence hastily. It was meant to be _'It must only be the hair of the same species, for example, if a human ingested the potion with the hair of a cat, their body would be ill adapt to cope with the change.' _He had instead put a cat ingesting the hair of a human, whilst that would be interesting, it wouldn't earn him any marks from Slughorn, and he cursed Tom's ability to distract him. He could be bloody irritating even when he never tried.

"It's due tomorrow is it not?" asked Tom, and Harry could hear the disapproval in his voice.

"Well some of us have social lives," Harry's eyes darted down the ring on his hand. The stone was glinting in the light of the fire. Even the look of it made him feel sick.

Tom caught him looking and smiled. It was the shark smile again.

"Where'd you get that?" Harry asked nonchalantly. He wasn't really expecting Tom to say,_ 'Well I just visited my father, killed him, framed my Uncle and took his ring, in the process making it a vessel for a sliver of my soul.'_

What Tom did say was:

"It was a family heirloom." Harry, not meant to know about the Orphanage, wouldn't be able to question this further. Drat.

"I wish I had something of my parents," he mused, injecting a little sadness into his voice. It was partly true though, his Invisibility Cloak would have made killing Tom much easier, but the Heir never needed to know that.

"It must have been difficult coming here after such a tragedy," he knew the sorrow in Tom's voice was merely an act. He was sitting next to a complete psychopath by every definition.

"Well yeah, but it's getting easier," Harry shrugged, and Tom's eyes narrowed slightly. He was going in for the kill, and with a start Harry realised he had had this conversation mapped from the moment he sat down.

"Have you been having nightmares about them? I was just wondering, after last night…" Tom's voice was silky smooth, he had injected just enough concern in his voice to sound genuine to everyone who never knew he was Voldemort.

Well if world domination and stalking never worked out, he'd have a glittering career in acting.

"I was hoping you would forget that," Harry feigned a blush, ducking his head in embarrassment. He had moved his essay to this side, after his Second Year it wasn't that hard to complete, and now he was looking into the fire, avoiding Tom's eyes in what he hoped looked like shame.

If Tom could win an Oscar, Harry could certainly win a Razzie.

"It's my job to make sure everyone is alright," said Tom gently. Harry easily translated that as 'I like to know everyone's business.'

"I don't want to talk about it," said Harry firmly. He really never wanted to, the images were too fresh. For one insane moment he thought he saw Ron and Hermione standing behind Tom. Their eyes still hollow, their flesh still marred. Blinking rapidly, he willed them away, and looking back, he was thankful that they had gone.

"According to every psychologist, talking is the key to recovery," said Tom, and Harry could hear a little bit of the coldness seep back into his voice.

"Have you been to every psychologist?" asked Harry, raising his eyebrows as if in challenge.

"No, but I've read enough to know that you would be stupid not to talk about it," bit back Tom. It appeared Mr Nice Guy had left the building.

"No one person is the same. Coping mechanising vary," retorted Harry, his tone rather frosty.

"Not that much, and given the way you act, I would say you have a hard time having no one to lean on for support. Not that you would ever get it from me," Tom's eyes glittered dangerously in the firelight.

"Well then, that shows how well you know me," said Harry, trying not to grit his teeth. Why was talking to Tom this bloody difficult. Deeper in his mind he wondered why he was even talking to him in the first place. That voice was silenced quickly. "If you would excuse me, I need to go to bed."

"And what if I don't excuse you?" challenged Tom.

"Then I'm leaving anyway." Harry was surprised when Tom just let him leave, staying rigidly on the sofa.

He never looked back as he went up the stairs, only to crash into Avery and Abraxus on the sixth floor landing.

"Hey, watch where your going," whispered Avery, regaining his balance quickly.

"Did no one tell you eavesdropping was rude?" asked Harry, entering the dormitory, followed by the two boys seeing the show was over.

"We pulled the short straw," said Abraxus, and Harry fought a grimace as he realised Cygnus and Lestrange were still up, looking towards the trio expectantly.

"What happened?" asked Cynus excitedly. Harry fought back a wave of pain at how much he reminded him of Sirius right now.

"Calm down, Black," hissed Lestrange, and Harry shot a glare at the other boy. Lestrange just stared back coolly.

"Tom was just asking about Harry's dreams," said Avery, his forehead creasing in concentration, "Has he ever done that with any of you?"

"No, not even after Abraxus's grandfather died," replied Cygnus.

"To be fair I wasn't too cut up over that," said Abraxus coldly, shooting a withering look at Cygnus, clearly annoyed that he had been singled out.

"Regardless, the attention he gives you is strange, Harry," said Avery.

"Yeah, he lets you get away with stuff that we wouldn't," interjected Cygnus.

"Really?" This was news to Harry, and he sat down on his bed, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. It did make sense. Take last night for example, Tom had no obligation to help him, or even clean him up, he could have just let Harry puke on himself. The sick bastard would have probably found it amusing.

"He's never offered any of us lessons," said Abraxus, examining his nails and looking every part the bored school boy.

"And walking away there, he always has the last word," said Avery. Harry found it funny how much he was reminding him of Hermione right now, the puzzle infuriating him.

"Whatever," said Lestrange, bitterness creeping into his tone, "You're a shiny new toy, it won't last."

The others looked unconvinced, but at the surly look on their friend's face they dropped the subject. It was clear he was finding it hard being replaced as Tom's favourite. Harry would have felt sorry for him if he wasn't so irritating. That said he wouldn't be surprised if the other boy had a crush on Tom with the way he acted around him. It was pretty sickening, especially when Tom pulled him up on it. Harry suspected it annoyed the Heir as well, but that was just a hunch.

"Harry, guess what tomorrow is?" asked Cygnus excitedly. It seemed the Black heir had endless amounts of energy, and Harry shot him a strained smile.

"Thursday?" he asked, sarcasm colouring his tone.

"Well, yeah, but it's also the start of the Quidditch season. First training session is tomorrow."

Harry was surprised at how genuinely happy he felt at that, "I'll need to order a broom for the games."

"No need," said Cygnus, "I cleared it with Slughorn, and given your arrival at the school, he's agreed to put in a request to Dippit. Your broom should arrive next week, you can use a school one till then. Abraxus wouldn't lend you his again, I tried," the dark haired boy looked apologetic at this.

"And have him destroy it? As if," scoffed Abraxus, earning a pillow in the face from Cygnus.

A short war ensued, but eventually when Abraxus had Cygnus tangled in his hangings they went to bed. The Black Heir managed to cut himself down, and with a loud 'Oomph,' landed on his bed, earning shushes from everyone else.

One thing that Harry realised when he closed his hangings was that Tom hadn't came up.

The scary thing was that the others hadn't questioned it, and despite their banter, Harry realised that they truly were Death Eaters.

What alarmed him was how upset this made him, and with a sigh he rolled on his side, sleep claiming him at once.

* * *

><p>Tom could hear the yells coming from the dorm and chose to remain downstairs. Normally he would be in the Room of Requirement right now, but his mind was too occupied to do much research tonight.<p>

When Harry had looked at his ring, he saw neither awe or curiosity in his eyes. Instead he saw disappointment, a reaction that certainly stood out from the praises and admiration he had been receiving all day for it.

He knew he could just be being paranoid, but there was something else there too.

Familiarity.

He wouldn't have gotten this far if he hadn't slept with one eye open. Paranoia was more a friend of his than an enemy. It meant he covered all his bases. Nothing was left to chance.

He had kept Harry on a long leash, but perhaps it was time to tighten it.

Because of the boy he had learnt more about his heritage. He had been useful, if only in an indirect way.

Tom Riddle did not believe in Fate, but he thought it was rather suspicious that this boy had suddenly entered his life, rousing his curiosity.

He had always known there was something more to him. His power had already shown he was different than the common wizard. Perhaps that wasn't the only thing. His reaction to his parent's deaths was emotionless. It hadn't been that long since their lives were extinguished. From what he had seen of the typical wizard, the reaction would be sadness and anger. Harry had shown neither. Yes, he had tried, but Tom had seen a First Year tell more convincing lies.

Why would he lie about his parents?

He never thought Dumbledore would stoop this low in his attempts to get dirt on him, but he had seen the boy around the aged wizard quite a lot. More than the average student anyway, and admittedly that wasn't a lot.

Could he be spying on him?

Regardless of this, Harry was still hiding something for an unknown reason.

This was one base he could not leave uncovered, and he remembered his offer of lessons. Maybe it was time to move them up a little.

Yes, Tom grinned in the semi-darkness, that would be perfect.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! I'm sorry this has been up so late, I've been finishing off one of my other stories, and that took up most of my time. I hope this was worth it, however. I know Tom and Harry have been acting friendly, but they don't trust each other as far as they can throw them._

_In other news, tomorrow is my birthday, and so this week I'm busy with various things surrounding that. The next update will be some point next week because of this - I may find time, but I'm not promising. Forgive me! _

_Although I do think it's cool I share the same birthday as Harry…_

_I've also posted a story called 'House Of The Rising Sun,' as some of you expressed interest in hearing from Tom's POV about his father and what happened the day he went to Little Hangleton. Check it out if you're interested._

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Well this got a whole lot more complicated what with the 'Guest' thing. Here we go:_

_Guest 1: Thank you, I'm glad you're still enjoying it. I hope this doesn't disappoint!_  
><em>Bluebird - I thought it would be kind of fitting. Even the process of going back in time can change things. <em>

_Guest 2 - I loved the enthusiasm of your review! I think Harry gives some insight here into what he's going to do, but for the most part he's been completely blindsided by the new development._


	12. Chapter 12

When Tom took him aside that morning after breakfast, Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ever since their conversation in the Common Room, he had been looking at Tom's behaviour to both him and the Slytherins, and his conclusions had been rather worrisome.

The future Death Eaters had been right.

Tom seemed more possessive of him that he did of them. To them he treated them on a good day as if they were only slightly beneath him, and the bad days… Well they never even merited thinking about.

There was also the days that Harry would enter the Common Room, and the Slytherins would all look at him, some with envious expressions, others slightly relieved. It was only the slight twitch of facial muscles that would give it away, and that was how he had only noticed now.

Whilst Tom was hardly a charmer with him, he wondered idly how different he was when it was just his House present. These were people he knew inside and out, and whilst Harry was one of them, he wanted something from him. Acting like a psychopath would hardly create the trust he needed to accomplish his goals!

As for his goals, Harry had given that a fair bit of thought too. Granted this was only done in that semi-awake zone of his brain between consciousness and unconsciousness, but he still had a few theories.

The one that had the most mental support was the idea of recruitment. The one that he had almost went into hysterics over was the idea that Tom was gay. Although the Heir did pay a lot of attention to his looks… Hmm, maybe that theory required further thought.

They were by the statue of Barnabus the Barmy. It was one of the darker corners of the castle, especially when outside the bright Great Hall. The rest of the Death Eaters had milled away to their classes, reluctantly missing what they thought would have been a good show.

They were pretty close now. Tom's face hovered a few inches away from Harry's. If it wasn't for the frosty look in Tom's eyes, Harry would have been really freaked. As it stood he was only a little freaked out. After all the time he had spent here, he realised that this was in fact normal Tom behaviour. Concepts of personal space and all notions of public decency were out the window with this psychopath.

"A little cosy, isn't it?" quipped Harry, feeling the tension rise a little before Tom pulled back a little. One point to him.

"I was wondering if you would like to start the lessons we discussed not so long ago?" Harry could recognise an order when he heard one. There really wasn't a choice being offered.

"Um… actually I don't," he pretended to look confused. He got a little sadistic pleasure from annoying Tom, the dangerous glint twinkling in his eye normally enough for the normal person to stop, but he was hardly normal.

"And here I thought your stupidity was an act," bit back Tom.

"It wasn't, surprise!" chuckled Harry weakly, seeing shock flit quickly through Tom's eyes before being replaced with annoyance.

"Be at the Room of Requirement tonight after dinner," said Tom abruptly, turning and practically gliding down the corridor.

Seriously, being that graceful had to be caused by magic!

It was only when he sat in Transfiguration that Harry realised his mistake.

He had never mentioned knowing the Room of Requirement. And that's when the realisation sunk in and the dread pooled in his stomach. Tom had read his mind and he hadn't even noticed!

The only word that formed in Harry's mind at that moment was _'Fuck!'_

If Tom knew he was a time-traveller he could pretty much say goodbye to 1943! Or maybe existence entirely if the Heir was in a particularly bad mood.

His hands itched towards the time-turner, still hanging heavy against his chest. A few turns and he would be gone. The mission would be aborted, but the timeline intact. If Tom ambushed him, he could find out everything to do with the future.

A bitter voice at the back on his mind chose that moment to pipe up. _'Like it would matter, he won anyway.'_

The image of Ron and Hermione chased that away. He was meant to be transfiguring a hedgehog into a pin cushion, but for a moment, he looked up and they were right in front of him.

Their hollow eyes bore into his. Mangled limbs reached out as if to touch him, and he felt himself draw back a little, disgusted by even this small action. Sad mouths formed the words, 'Please don't,' and the disgust was replaced by guilt. The emotion sliced through him, severing all thoughts of ever going back.

He had nothing back home. His friends were dead, his allies decimated. He would be lucky to survive a year under Voldemort's tyranny. Hell he probably wouldn't even last that long, having to spend his days looking into the eyes of people he failed to protect and who were now being oppressed because of his cowardice.

As soon as he decided to stay, Ron and Hermione disappeared. He just caught a concerned glance from Avery and a frown from Tom - which he ignored - before getting back to his work.

If the situation arose in which Tom would learn everything, he would find a way to stop it. Somehow.

* * *

><p>During Transfiguration Tom had quickly breezed through the work. Really? A pin cushion? Had Hogwarts just decided not to challenge its students anymore?<p>

Glancing quickly around, he was pleased to note that none of his friends seemed to be having difficulties with the assignment. He never befriended stupid people. Whilst they had many failings, they would always pass. That he would make sure of.

His gaze crossed over Harry again. He wore that gormless look he used to possess when he was pretending to be an imbecile. Frowning, Tom watched him a little more intently.

He looked almost scared, and was that guilt in his eyes? He was looking ahead as if seeing something that no one else could. At least Tom could detect no magic in that area anyway. For a moment Harry seemed to shrink back. Yes, something certainly wasn't right with his newest recruit.

Harry had been difficult this morning, but he did relish the challenge he presented. His quick wit was refreshing, and he found himself almost enjoying conversations with the emerald eyed boy.

This one, however, had been particularly interesting. He had broken his own rule of not reading his mind. It wasn't the first time his curiosity had gotten the better of him, after what transpired in the Common Room a few nights ago he knew it would only be a matter of time.

He had found that he knew about the Room of Requirement and went their to practice, his parents were indeed dead, and he loved Quidditch.

All of these details were mundane and surface deep. There were no memories of his parents death for one thing. These missing details made him probe further, but suddenly he was blocked. An image of two people came into his head instead. To say they were gross was an understatement. The man had ginger hair and looked as if he had been on the wrong end of an explosion. The girl had bushy brown hair, deep scars marred her, but he could tell she would not have been any more attractive without them.

When he withdrew, he could tell Harry hadn't noticed. Accidental Occlumency was only caused by trauma, the wizard's mind shielding himself from an incident that he would wish to forget. The emotion caused by that would have to be extensive. Tom remembered Harry's nightmare from a few nights ago. Perhaps there was sufficient damage for this to occur.

Something as simple as his parents deaths would not be enough to create this though. There were only a couple of documented cases that he had heard of.

It seemed Harry just got more and more mysterious. He had never had to plan for this ever happening. His Legilimency skills were unmatched - except by maybe Dumbledore. Still, a solution bloomed in his mind rather quickly, and turning back to his pin cushion, he bit back a smile.

* * *

><p>It was at 7.30pm Harry found himself outside the Room of Requirement. Tom arrived only moments later looking as immaculate as always, before pacing in front of the door.<p>

There was no explanation, clearly Tom knew Harry never needed one.

He literally had no idea what to expect, and when the door appeared, he was half tempted to bolt.

During dinner, the chatter had barely been registered by Harry. Cynus had been going on about the Quidditch practice scheduled for the next day. Normally this was something that Harry would have been enthusiastic about, but his mind kept returning to Tom.

Now that time was here. The make or break point. It never took a genius to see that this was a turning point. His future and that of the Wizarding World was hanging on a knife edge, and if he wasn't so nervous, he would have said that was preposterous.

Tom entered first, again showing his back to Harry. He could have cursed him then and there, but then he saw the light glance off his shoulder blades. Sometimes spells were layered, and in a moment Harry could see many rainbow coloured strands weaved around Tom.

It would figure that Tom would wear shield charms at all times.

This also presented a rather unnerving revelation.

To do that, Tom must view him as a threat, but he would know there would be a chance Harry could see them. This in turn would put Harry on his guard. Whatever was going on, Tom wanted Harry to be curious, and it was to his annoyance he found his curiosity making him enter the room. God he was such a sneaky bastard!

The Room of Requirement was decorated much like the Slytherin Common Room. Gray stone held up the arched ceiling. It was like something from the Gothic era, and green velvet couches aligned the walls. His feet quickly crossed a soft emerald carpet to stand in the centre of the room with Tom. His wariness had risen tenfold since entering.

This looked like the place to have a chat, not to practice the Dark Arts, and Harry was more than certain he wouldn't like the topic.

Tom turned to him. Harry half expected the red eyes and snake face to surface, instead he was presented with an almost bored look.

"If you'd rather be somewhere else..." Harry trailed off, seeing the flash of annoyance in the taller boy's eyes.

"Harry," Tom's voice sounded slightly saddened, it was as if Harry had failed some test, "Is there anything you would like to tell me before we begin?"

Harry pretended to think before replying the negative.

"Are you sure?" Tom's words were like ice, and Harry realised that this situation was incredibly twisted - well, more twisted than a time-travaller talking to his future parents murder was already.

Surely if Tom knew everything then he wouldn't ask? From what he knew about his older counterpart, he tortured first and backed up facts later. There was also the fact that Tom had only looked him in the eyes now, and so he obviously wasn't using this time to read his mind.

Images of himself writhing in pain flashed before his eyes, and as much as he hated it, it was what should have been happening here.

"Yep," he replied simply, looking around the room for a minute before his wandering gaze returned to Tom. "Did you bring me here just to ask me questions, or are you going to teach me?"

"Of course, I just needed to make sure that you were certain you wanted me to be your teacher. Most people," Tom's nose wrinkled a little on the word 'people' before continuing, "can't handle my methods."

"I'm not most people," retorted Harry. Maybe he had been over reacting. Tom could have seen him go to the Room of Requirement at some point. It wasn't entirely implausible that he had made the connection when Harry had ran into him there. He was supposed to be brilliant after all.

Upon reflection had had made his first mistake. He had allowed himself to relax a little.

"The Dark Arts are extensive. I have studied them for years and have yet to uncover all their mysteries. Without them there would be no Light, nothing to balance the magic that flows through ourselves and this world. Now some aspects of it are not for the faint hearted, but it is the same with all magic, and we must protect all aspects of magic, not just those palatable to the masses. We will start of with the more simpler spells before moving into the Darker ones. This way you can adjust and see if this branch of magic is for you," Tom's voice was impassioned as he spoke, and Harry could see him using this on the Death Eaters, charming them with being the safeguards of the Dark Arts, of learning magic that was not available to everyone. It really was clever, but he had seen the destruction the Dark Arts could reap, and that alone managed to let him keep his head.

"What shall we do first?" asked Harry, hoping he sounded enthusiastic.

"For some the Dark Arts seem daunting. They are taboo, and so if it will put you at ease, I shall demonstrate how anything can indeed be Dark. If you would take a seat," Tom gestured to the couches, and Harry sat down.

With hindsight that was his second mistake. The power balance had shifted to Tom's favour.

A dummy appeared, very much like the ones Harry had trained with previously. The only difference was that this one was more like live matter. In fact it looked like a dummy, but Harry could clearly see blood coursing through it, the blue veins and body very much like that of a human.

"Look at accio. It is seen as a spell for retrieving items. However, it can also be used on people," Tom's voice was like that of a teacher, and Harry felt like he should be taking notes, "Accio dummy's heart."

The sound of tearing skin and breaking bone filled the room for a minute, and in the next Tom held the still bleeding heart of the now felled dummy. The blood ran down his wrist, but with a flick of his wand it was soon gone.

"It's all about intention," said Harry, "Even looking at avada kedavra, that can be used to euthanize wizards and witches. Compared to other deaths it is painless."

"Very good, I see you have no problems with this magic," Tom was almost speaking to himself. "Now there is just one more thing to undertake before you become my pupil."

"What?" asked Harry, his eyebrows knitting together.

And there was his third mistake. Not noticing the danger that emanated from the Heir. Next thing he knew the furniture was alive. The ornate arms of the chair had wrapped around his wrists, the walls of the room rippling slightly at the change.

With what he looked on as his fourth mistake, but which could be seen as his first, he had allowed Tom to activate the room. That gave Tom's mind sole power over it, and Harry was effectively trapped.

"What is this, Tom?" spat Harry, feeling his anxiety rise as he fought with his bonds.

"I need to be able to know you won't lie to me. From the moment you have came to Hogwarts you have done nothing but that. I want to know why," hissed Tom, and Harry saw his eyes flash red for a moment. He was definitely angry. This was not good!

"I haven't-" started Harry.

"Stop," cut in Tom, "I want answers, and as I have told you, I always get what I want." Tom's voice grew more deadly, and he pulled a little colourless phial out of the pocket of his robes.

Almost insanely, the only question on Harry's mind at that point was, _'How did Tom get his hands on Veritaserum?'_

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the reviews and all the birthday messages, I was really touched by them. :) This is later than I intended, my work has been giving me crazy overtime, and real life has gotten in the way with all sorts of dramas happening - sometimes I think my life should be a soap! _

_Anyway, about the chapter! I don't know if Accidental Occlumency exists, but it makes sense that if the person suffers a trauma so horrific that they want to forget it themselves, their mind would protect them and therefore any intruder from the information. _

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Got an account - Aw, thank you! I'm thrilled you have that reaction! Also thank you for the birthday wishes. *sends cyber cake*_

_Bluebird - Haha, Harry is a pretty bad liar, but I think under Tom's tutorage he will get better. Their conversations are really fun to write, in real life I'm pretty bad at coming up with witty responses, so I'm envious of their ability to think so quickly!_


	13. Chapter 13

"You have got to be kidding me," deadpanned Harry, fighting his nausea, "Are Abraxus and the rest of them going to jump out now and yell surprise?"

His terror had been replaced with bravado. Tom's eyes had narrowed to slits now. Yeah, he wasn't impressed, although if you shaved his head he could almost resemble Snake Face.

And now it appeared his mind was babbling. At least the words weren't coming out of his mouth.

Tugging at his restraints, he trying to reach out with his mind. If he could communicate with the room, then perhaps it would let him go. In other words it was a long shot, but his wand was now on the floor having fallen out of his grip when he had been assaulted.

In terms of plans, this was of the 'Z' variety.

Tom advanced on him now, and in a last ditched attempt Harry kicked him in the shins. He felt grim satisfaction hearing his feet come into contact with the Heir, but moments later he felt his whole body go rigid.

"Petrificus totalus is so for First Years," he managed.

"And if I am able to subdue you with it, what does that make you?" sneered Tom, kneeling down next to him. He caught a whiff of cologne as he was brought face to face with the Heir. The urge to vomit rose.

No longer sneering, Tom looked the picture of perfect innocence. That was if you never looked in his eyes. The blue orbs were colder than the ice planet Hoth.

The Veritaserum tasted bitter, but Harry wasn't sure if that was because of the potion, or because he was about to destroy the future.

So much for being able to stop this happening. He couldn't even use his magic!

Harry tried to spit out the colourless potion, but as soon as it entered his mouth, he felt his lips fuse, and Tom massaged his throat, forcing the liquid down his oesophagus.

Moments later it felt as if his whole body and mind had relaxed, not one of the affects he had seen Veritaserum have, but at this point he couldn't care. In this state of ease, it was ridiculous not to trust. Feeling this relaxed meant trust. Didn't it?

"What House do you associate yourself with?" asked Tom.

"Gryffindor… No… Slytherin," replied Harry, seeing Tom's eyebrows knit together in thought over the implications this answer contained.

When Tom asked his who he was, he felt it only natural to say "Harry James Potter". He was aware a part of him was screaming, but it was almost muffled, and the answers just appeared on his lips, it wasn't like he could stop it.

"Are your parents dead?" asked Tom, waving his wand and levitating a chair over so he could sit down.

It was almost like they were having a conversation, not an interrogation. As whilst Harry felt that he could trust Tom, he knew rapid fire questions in quick succession was not a conversation.

"Yes," said Harry. It was strange how it was almost a compulsion to give the correct response.

"Where did you grow up?" asked Tom, crossing his legs, looking about as relaxed as he ever did.

"Little Whinging, Surrey," replied Harry, once again feeling the answers dancing on his tongue.

"Are you working for Dumbledore?" Harry felt this question seemed a little insane, the voice in the back of his head was a little louder now, but he still couldn't stop the words pouring from his mouth.

"No."

Tom was silent for a moment, his head cocked to the left as if he were thinking. It was in this moment that the relaxation faded. The look in Tom's eyes chilled Harry now. It was as if he had reached some conclusion, and this conclusion was not in Harry's best interests.

"How did your parents die?" he asked, his eyes scanning Harry's rapidly.

"They were hit with the Killing Curse," said Harry easily.

"Who did it?" bit out Tom.

"Lord Voldemort," replied Harry, monitoring Tom's expression. His eyes had widened, and he looked stunned for a moment. Only a moment though.

"When?" Tom almost growled this, and Harry could practically see the thoughts spinning around in his mind.

"The 31st of October, 1981," those words tasted wrong on his tongue, and it was then that the realisation hit Harry. Tom had mixed a Calming Draught with the truth serum. A draught that had just worn off much to his horror.

"Don't ask me any more, Tom," snarled Harry, panic flaring in his chest at the secrets he was about to expose.

"And why wouldn't I? It isn't like you have anything to offer," replied Tom smoothly, no doubt seeing Harry's pupils contract and noting the Calming Draught had worn off.

"I know you want something from me," said Harry hurriedly.

"Oh, so are you eager to join me now?" Tom's eyebrows were raised. It was a challenge.

"If you ask me no more questions then I will," the words felt like ash, but he was still under the Veritaserum. It was the truth. He knew he was signing his soul away to the Devil, but what he was saving was more important.

"You would give me servitude? Let me take away your freedom?" Tom looked sceptical.

"Yes," replied Harry bitterly. He was well aware that if someone were to look at them objectively, then it would appear as if they were having a friendly chat, not gambling over the future.

"Or how about a different deal? I ask what you're hiding, don't reveal it to anyone else, and then you join me?"

"You can still use the knowledge," said Harry, finding neither a negative or positive answer. He was completely torn.

"Well yes, but I'm not the one pinned by an armchair," replied Tom nonchalantly.

"If you tell anyone, then you will be considered insane," muttered Harry truthfully.

"I have a knack for making others believe me," said Tom coldly, his eyes flashing and leaving no doubt.

"But you would never tell them something that would give them the same power over me as you."

"And how well you know me, Harry. I wonder how that is…" Tom was taunting him now, and Harry's eyes narrowed.

"And leave it that way," bit out Harry.

"I'd rather not. You see, there are other ways to make you join me, and really, this is too good an opportunity to pass up. So, Harry, why are you here?"

This question was unexpected. Harry thought he was going to ask about his timeline, but he still felt the answer coming out despite his shock.

"To kill you."

"That's hardly surprising. I killed your parents. However, why did I kill your parents?" Tom looked as if he was discussing the weather, not the reaction Harry expected from a man he had just admitted to trying to kill.

"Because I was prophesised to be your downfall," replied Harry, wishing he could cram those words back into his mouth.

"And how is that?" Harry couldn't help asking.

"Obviously your attempts failed if you're back here to kill me instead of in your own timeline," mused Tom.

"Evidently," whispered Harry, much to his disgrace feeling a tear track a path down his cheek. He could see that Tom had mapped this conversation out to get the most answers with the least questions. He was an idiot to think he could defeat him.

"However, you are not working with Dumbledore. The Old Goat was never a fan of killing," said Tom disdainfully. "I'll honour our second deal, Harry. My silence for your compliance. Sound fair?"

"No," said Harry bitterly, feeling the Veritaserum finally wear off.

"Was that a yes? Excellent. You will be different from my other followers. In other words, I am not going to brand you," said Tom impassively.

"Oh, and I really fancied a tattoo as well," quipped Harry.

Tom pretended not to hear his remark, instead going on to say, "Now we cannot make an Unbreakable Vow, that requires another party. However, I have came up with an alternative method that I have been looking forward to trying out."

Harry wondered just how many students had been forced into deals with this 'alternative method', and to his surprise felt his right hand be freed from the restraints.

It was remarkably similar to an Unbreakable Vow, except Tom's magic wandlessly formed the liquid fire that bound their hands.

"Do you, Harry James Potter swear to obey the orders of me, Tom Marvolo Riddle, for as long as I wish in exchange for silence over your purpose in this timeline and the future to anyone but yourself?" asked Tom gravely.

"I do," replied Harry, knowing he was cornered and had no choice but to say those words regardless of how much he hated them.

"And I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, vow to uphold our agreement until such a time as both parties voluntarily agree to revoke it."

Just like that, the strands of magic linking their hands faded, and Tom let go, looking very much like the cat that caught the canary. And although they were invisible, Harry could still clearly see the strands in his mind. It was as if they were imprinted on his skin, the sign of his failure shining like a beacon.

"Are we done here?"

"Don't look so dismayed, Harry. You played the game and lost. Now is the chance to reset the board," said Tom.

"Why keep me around if you know I want to kill you?" Harry asked the question that had been burning in the back of his mind all throughout this encounter.

"I doubt you could, and if you tried I could just order you not to," replied Tom simply.

It was that more than anything that was truly bitter. He had escaped the Dursley's, only to be restrained by a prophecy and finally one of the people said prophecy was about. The only freedom he knew was on a broom, and even now that could be taken away at the merest order from Tom.

"Harry, whilst I can order you to do anything, I'm not going to control you. You're interesting, and if you became like our other friends then it would be disappointing. That was merely insurance so you do not follow your more Light tendencies," and this was Tom's polite way of saying _'Don't be an imbecile and go all Gryffindor on me.'_

"Giving the fact that you just made me take Veritaserum, excuse me if I don't believe you," said Harry, his voice like acid.

"I assure you, I mean every word I say, except when I don't," smirked Tom.

"Where does this leave us then? Am I meant to follow you around, kiss your feet?" asked Harry sarcastically.

"The thought of any of your bodily fluids on me is disgusting, as for the following, we'll see. For now, things are the way they were before. Your secret is out in the open, my followers just gained one more member, but other than that, things have not changed. For anyone else at least," Tom's voice was cold, businesslike.

"It's really business as usual?" Harry tried not to let his disbelief enter his tone. If the frustrated look Tom shot him was anything, he failed magnificently.

"Everything will continue as before," promised Tom, his eyes glittering in the light. Be it in amusement or seriousness Harry couldn't tell.

Harry felt he would only believe that when he saw it, and as he was released, he felt a wave of hopelessness engulf him.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback. There were a lot less reviews than normal though, was there something wrong with the last chapter? Do you want me to change it?_

_I hope this chapter never disappointed, I'm always wary about what Tom finds out from Harry, but I hope all the immediate questions he would have have been answered._

_In regards to similarities with Past's Player, I'm not reading the story, so any resemblance is coincidence. As to the use of Veritaserum, I have used it before in my first fanfiction which was about two years ago, and I am sure many others have used it too._

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Bluebird: Haha, he most certainly should. His curiosity has led him into trouble in the past, and this is no exception!_


	14. Chapter 14

Walking into the Great Hall, it was strange seeing that nothing had changed, and yet everything was different. The Death Eaters chatted and joked, Tom ate his toast in silence, and Harry drank as much coffee as possible.

At least now he only looked like a zombie, the caffeine meant he never had to act like one too.

Tom frowned at him in disapproval. "Really, Harry, are you trying to be the youngest wizard ever to die of a heart attack?"

"Well yeah, at least I'd be remembered when I'm gone," replied Harry, his tone more snappish than usual, the irony of his words not lost on himself. Tom at least didn't know about the fame he had back in his time.

"I had forgotten how much of a glory hog you are," said Tom snidely.

"Takes one to know one," muttered Harry, taking a bite of his bacon. He wasn't hungry, in fact after last night he'd be surprised if was hungry again, but it gave him something to do other than stare at the table.

"Touché," Tom's lips curved into some semblance of a smile. At least he never looked like a shark this time.

"Harry, are you coming to practice tonight?" Cygnus broke the silence that had fallen after Tom's remark. The Heir had a habit of creating moments of awkward silence, he really should go to a class for it.

"Oh…" The Heir looked smug and tilted his head slightly as if to give permission. Bastard. "Sure."

"We'll be on the pitch at seven, don't be late," Cygnus said hurriedly, packing up his stuff.

"Where are you going?" It was unusual for a Death Eater to leave before Tom, what made it more strange was that it was a Black and there was food still on the table.

"Margot wants to see me," Cygnus winked and Harry shuddered. Margot McCleary was a Seventh Year Slytherin with about as big a reputation when it came to the opposite sex as his godfather had in his time. It appeared the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.

"You do realise she probably has more diseases than creatures used for medical experiments?" Tom asked coolly. Abraxus managed just at the last minute not to spit his pumpkin juice all over the table. After all it would be unbecoming of a Malfoy.

"I really don't see why you debase yourself by lusting after that creature," piped up Lestrange.

"Well you wouldn't know, would you," jeered Cygnus, "Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to be late."

"I don't think she'd appreciate that," muttered Harry, Cygnus laughing in response and clapping him on the back before walking away.

"I would rather kiss Merrythought than go near that disgrace of a Pureblood," fumed Lestrange. To Harry he seemed very much like a pigeon in this moment. You could practically see him puffing out his chest in an effort to get more masculinity back after Cygnus's remark.

"She is merely supplying a service, some people are only meant to serve," said Tom pointedly, and Lestrange blanched, hastily returning to his porridge. Harry never missed Tom's eyes flicking over to him, and he felt his hands curl into fists. There had to be someway to get out of the vow. Some loophole...

Ignoring Tom's disapproving glare, he poured himself another mug of coffee. All throughout breakfast he was aware of Dumbledore giving him curious glances. He knew he looked like Hell, probably more than usual, and so the future Headmaster was probably wondering what had happened. He guessed he could pass it off on nightmares when - not _if_, the man was too nosy for his own good - he was asked. After all, he never wanted to give one of the Light's biggest assets a heart attack by saying _'Oh yeah, well I walked into a trap and now I'm kinda one of Tom's followers'._

If that happened then the future would really be screwed.

Swallowing the last of the now lukewarm liquid, he and the rest of the Hall proceeded to pack up their belongings and get ready for class. Much to Harry's disappointment he had Potions.

"Do you think Slughorn will go easy on us since this is the first test since last year?" asked Avery, the bookish Death Eater had been reading up on his lesson notes all breakfast. If Harry hadn't been so preoccupied with the complete dynamic change between him and Tom he would have remembered this test.

Not only was the future fucked, so were his grades apparently.

"I daresay I can speak to him if needed," said Tom coldly, clearly showing that failure to him was not tolerated. Still perhaps the Death Eaters good grades weren't just because they were smart. Now it made sense why some of Voldemort's followers didn't have two brain cells to rub together, their Lord bribed the teacher.

Rolling his eyes, Harry pushed past them eager already to get the day over with. He was almost out of the Hall when he felt a familiar vice-like grip on his arm. The rest of the Death Eaters hurried past them and Tom smiled coldly.

"So you see it's just the same, do you believe it now?" his soft words were in complete contrast with his eyes. They looked like two orbs of ice, and Harry thought they wouldn't thaw any time this year.

"Unfortunately for you perception differs," hissed Harry, wrenching his arm out of his grasp. "Now if you'll excuse me, I don't want to be late."

He was almost surprised when Tom never ordered him back.

* * *

><p>Darkness had rolled in fast as Harry walked up to the Quidditch pitch. He could hear more than see the others were already there. Cygnus's voice managed to carry to the castle!<p>

Walking onto the pitch, he glanced up at the stands. Tom was sitting there staring stonily at the players below, Avery sat next to him chatting with Delilah, and Lestrange was no where to be seen. Abraxus was doing a lap whilst Cygnus was briefing the rest of the team, before seeing Harry and bounding over to him.

"Harry!" greeted Cygnus warmly, "Guys, this is Harry. Harry, this is Rosier and Mulciber, they're our beaters. Abraxus, Perdita, and Nott are our chasers, and I'm the keeper. Harry is our new seeker."

Harry felt rather like a fascinating animal being studied. Perdita, the only witch in the team, reminded him a little of Ginny. Her eyes were the same colour, but instead of flame-like hair, hers was a more chocolate brown. Nott resembled his son greatly, whilst not as lanky as Ron, he was close, and with the bulk that was Rosier and Mulciber next to him it was hard to see where he fitted in.

"Right, lets warm up with a few laps and then we'll get started," the others mounted their brooms and shot off, and Cygnus motioned to Harry to come over, "Your broom came the other day. It's a beauty."

Harry saw it propped up on the stands next to Cygnus's. It was a dark wood, Nimbus 1700 engraved on in it silver. It was nothing on his own Firebolt, but holding it Harry felt a sense of joy swell up inside his chest. With this he could escape. He owned something that could take him away from his place. He wouldn't use the time-turner for that purpose, but with this he had the chance to get away at least for a few hours and not be followed - something he had a feeling he was going to cash in on at some point. After all Tom detested flying, and he wasn't important enough to make the Heir get on a broom, he was just another mindless follower.

But then Tom's words came back to him:

_'You will be different from my other followers.'_

However, not even the slight doubt to his follower status was enough to dispel the happiness he felt coursing through his system. Mounting the broom he soared into the air, the cold night wind blew through his hair, not has quickly as it would on his Firebolt, but this was still freedom.

Flying higher and higher he felt the temperature drop. Soon the pitch was just a dot, and dimly he heard Cygnus calling him back. Turning, he plummeted back to the earth, feeling the adrenaline explode within his veins. Urging the broom faster he zoomed past the stands until he was about two metres from the grass, and pulling up sharply his feet touched the ground bringing him back.

"You are bloody mental!" yelled Perdita as Harry laughed. He probably sounded insane, but he never cared. After all that had happened it felt good to fly, and if the grin on Cygnus's face was anything to go by then he had just given one Hell of a performance.

The other players just looked at each other, their faces were a mask of shock and pleasure.

"Man, you sure can pick them, Cygnus!" yelled Rosier, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Where was he last year when we were slaughtered by Ravenclaw?" asked Nott.

"Harry, no more flying off. Now, unless we want to get slaughtered again lets get back to it!" yelled Cygnus, tossing the quaffle to Perdita.

They were just about to start again when a voice came from the entrance to the pitch.

"Are you so desperate you're getting suicidal players now, Black?" Squinting through the darkness Harry recognised the face of Lupin's father - he thought he recalled him being called John.

"What are you doing here, Lupin?" asked Cygnus, bristling instantly.

"We're here to practice, seems like the pitch is double booked," Harry never needed to see the shock of green hair to recognise Charlus Potter. That must have been some magic in that prank, and Harry smothered a laugh.

Apart from them Harry never recognised the rest of the Gryffindor team. He thought he saw a boy who looked a little bit like Arthur Weasley - that is if the ginger hair was anything to go by - but other than that there were no recognisable features on any of them. Then again, it was dark and he had glasses for a reason.

"Can't we just practice in one half and you in the other?" Harry suggested, trying to keep peace between the Houses.

"And then you steal our moves?" asked Charlus incredulously. Even with hazel coloured eyes and green hair the resemblance between the two was startling. Harry was almost thankful for the night so no one appeared to have picked up on it.

"You've already see me do one, and why would we want to steal yours?" Harry gave his best sneer. He did have a part to play after all.

"He has a fair point, Potter," said Cygnus, landing next to Harry.

"What is going on here?" Tom's voice pierced the night.

"It appears the pitch has been double-booked," replied Cygnus.

"Well we were here first," said Tom coldly.

"Are we really resorting this childish argument?" Lupin looked more amused than scared as he took in the sight of Tom. Finally, people that don't fear him!

"I wasn't arguing, I was merely stating a fact," replied Tom, danger underlined his words and Harry suppressed a shudder.

"And yet we still need to practice, so it appears we are at an impasse," returned Charlus, the cocky grin on his face reminded Harry painfully of his father.

"What ever happened to sharing," grumbled Harry, earning a laugh from his grandfather.

"Your minion seems to want to play," Charlus's voice took on a mocking tone, and Harry felt a stab of anger shoot through him.

"I am not his minion," hissed Harry.

"Jameson, this is not the time nor place for this argument," said Tom frostily.

"Harry," warned Cygnus.

"I'm going to put it simply. We were here first, you are too late, it is getting dark and we have better things to do than argue over a pitch," the superiority in Tom's voice made Harry's inner Gryffindor want to hit him, "Reschedule."

"And what will you do if we don't leave?" challenged Charlus. Lupin winced at this, clearly a pacifist like his son, and Harry caught Tom giving him a look saying 'This is where you get it from!'

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Tom's voice was velvety smooth, but the threat hovered in the air between them, and the Heir's magic crackled in warning.

Silence descended for a few moments before Lupin stepped back, ending it. "He's right, it's getting too dark to practice, Charlus."

Charlus remained there for a few more moments showing he wouldn't be intimidated as the rest of the Gryffindor team dispersed, before also turning and leaving gracefully. Well it appeared Harry hadn't inherited that at least.

"Does that happen often?" asked Harry, remembering the times the pitch had been double-booked in his timeline.

"Not really, but it's always interesting when it does," replied Cygnus. "Although it really is too dark to practice now."

"Sorry, I'll try and be early next time," muttered Harry.

"It's cool, we managed to toss the quaffle around a bit before you came anyway. We have a good team this year, I can feel it," grinned Cygnus, going over to the others and telling them to pack up.

Sighing, Harry put his broom over his shoulder, the familiar weight making him smile and diminishing whatever he had left of the urge to use the time-turner. He was about to walk back up to the castle when he heard his name being called.

Great. What did Tom want now?

"Harry, walk with me," said Tom abruptly, and Harry found himself practically sprinting trying to keep up with the Heir. Soon the others were far behind, and Harry was just glad he had his broom. Tom had already shown he was better at magic, but if he tried anything one whack from that would probably knock him out cold.

"What did you do to the Gryffindors to make them actually believe your threats?" asked Harry curiously.

"I follow through with them," replied Tom simply, his eyes glittered dangerously, and Harry could practically see the memories dancing in his eyes of such times.

"So did you actually want to say anything to me, or are you just walking with me because you enjoy my company?" The sarcasm would have been evident even to someone knew to the concept.

"Well you are certainly more entertaining than the others," conceded Tom.

"In a good way or a bad way?" asked Harry.

"It varies," replied Tom dryly.

"Gee, thanks," muttered Harry.

"It is remarkable how much you resemble your fool of a grandfather just now," chuckled Tom. Just yesterday he found out about his past, forced him into signing his soul away and now he was joking about it. Maybe Voldemort's insanity wasn't due to his horcruxes, maybe it was just the way he was…

"I'd rather you never brought that up," said Harry stonily.

"No one can hear us out here, Potter," whispered Tom, and Harry felt panic pierce the bubble of happiness that flying had created. Naturally he didn't show it.

"Tom, I'm warning you," threatened Harry, his hand itching to grab his wand.

"Can you not take a joke?" Tom's voice sounded vaguely amused.

"Considering you have the sense of humour of a teaspoon then no, I can't," retorted Harry.

"Your words wound me," deadpanned Tom.

"Go to the Hospital Wing then," suggested Harry coldly.

"As if you could hurt me that much," scoffed Tom.

"Have you heard of this concept called 'modesty'? I suggest you look it up as it's a trait in which you lack."

"And not give anyone else a chance to experience my brilliance. Have you heard of this concept called 'selfishness'? I suggest you look it up as it's what me being modest would be," replied Tom without a moments hesitation.

"I'm surprised you could fit through that door your head is so big," said Harry in mock amazement.

"I have my ways," replied Tom quietly, a smile tugging at his lips.

They were in the castle now and they lapsed into a comfortable silence - at least it was more comfortable than the conversation. It appeared Tom was as aware as Harry that the walls had ears.

It was a short walk to the Common Room. The candles were resting in their brackets, the flames flickering due to the wind outside. Add the fact he was walking with a psychopath and future Dark Lord, it was far from a nice stroll, and Harry couldn't help but wonder where the others were.

The only benefit was that it gave him time to think. He certainly never appreciated Tom mentioning his name. He could play off the grandfather comment, but if anyone heard he was called Potter then the consequences of that would be much harder to deal with. He knew this, just like the comments at breakfast, was Tom's way of showing he had power over him. However, their banter seemed like Tom showing him it would be the same. Urgh, this was too confusing.

Reaching the Common Room, Tom said the password, letting Harry in first. It appeared the Heir didn't trust him at this moment in time not to curse his back. Wise move.

They made quick work of the stairs, both lost in their own thoughts, and as he bade the Heir goodnight he couldn't help but think, _'So much for things being normal.'_

* * *

><p><em>I am really sorry about the wait for this chapter. I'm back at university now and most of my deadlines were for the end of last week. This has led to much stress and no free time. However, I'm on my Reading Week now so I was able to actually post something! I'll try and not leave it so long next time, it really has been a hectic time!<em>

_Other than that I'm not too sure about this chapter. Its purpose was to show that whilst things may not have changed to Tom, to Harry everything has shifted. A few chapters ago Cygnus mentioned Quidditch practice to that wasn't totally out of the blue! Also I thought it would have been nice to toss in his grandfather as well. Been wanting them to meet for ages, and as you can see the Quidditch rivalry is just as strong in 1943! Still, I'm not happy, but it's better than nothing. If you hate it though then I will change it. :)  
><em>

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.  
><em>

_Anonymous Review Replies:  
><em>

_Korolo: Thank you, I really appreciate that. As you can see in this chapter it is not going to be normal and that should become more obvious as the chapters go on.  
><em>

_Bluebird: Haha, no it is not! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.  
><em>

_Ramen God: I'm glad you like him! I don't want this Tom to end up sappy so don't worry about that, and there will be more inhumane Tom to come. :D  
><em>

_tomharryfangirl: I am really, really sorry about the wait. It will not be as long next time and I hope this chapter was worth it.  
><em>


	15. Chapter 15

It was dark. Not the usual darkness. At least with the usual darkness you knew something was there. With this darkness there was nothing. He felt truly alone, and it was pressing in from all sides, slowly suffocating him.

Panicked breaths escaped his lungs, before drawing in what little oxygen they could in a pattern that was making his head hurt and his heart race. Not the way his heart raced when he saw Ginny, more the bad kind like when he saw Voldemort rise out of that blasted cauldron.

Moving forward - _Did he even have legs?_- he stumbled, hands splayed out in front of him ready to greedily greet whatever object or thing he came across.

He hadn't felt this deprived of sensation since he had to dive into the lake. But there at least he could see for the most part, and there had most definitely been more to see than there was here.

But then he felt it. It was an icy chill trickling down his spine, and he found himself doubting his earlier assertion.

Was he alone?

He could not see, could not hear, could not smell, or taste. All he could do was feel. He was defenceless against anything that meant him harm, and his physiological reaction clearly showed him that whatever was out there was not friendly.

And then it was like someone has turned on a light. All of his senses came rushing back to him in a way that was almost painful. The darkness receded, seemingly draining away and leaving a blank canvas for a painter to lay down their imaginings.

Slowly a form appeared. It first looked like a shadow, a shapeless form morphing into something that was meant to be corporeal, and after a moment it appeared it had chosen a man. That decision made, it became corporeal - almost like a mannequin - and cracks seemed to appear along with blackness that was the man's skin, akin to the cracks in an aged painting, before flaking off and revealing the form of Tom Riddle. The only thing that made this Tom different from the one Harry knew was the red eyes. They were piercing, not clouded with the haze of insanity his future self had acquired, but filled instead with intense clarity.

"You believe you can kill me, Harry?" Tom's words were velvety smooth with a slight mocking edge.

"Yes," Harry tried to say confidently. To be perfectly honest he hadn't paid it much thought, and he felt guilt coil in his stomach as he pictured Ron and Hermione's mutilated faces.

"If you really thought that you would have done it by now. I really was looking forward to the challenge," Tom sounded almost disappointed. "I imagine your friends would be disappointed that you haven't saved the future by now. You do realise that whilst you are here events are still running in the future? Time is rather amusing like that. Their timeline still exists, branched off from this one in one of the many possible outcomes created from your choices here. Yes, you have changed history with your presence, but not large enough to make a difference and create a new timeline free from Voldemort. For you see I have access to your memories. Dumbledore was the last thing you saw before you came back here, and yet you never saw what happened to him. You never saw him be defeated, suffering, before begging for death at my future self's hand, or some other fate that was equally as terrible because even Dumbledore, for all his power, cannot hold off an army..."

"SHUT UP!" yelled Harry, his anger bubbling over, but not anger at Tom, anger at himself. He needed to do more, stop messing around and actually save his friends!

"If you want me to be quiet then you need to act, if you don't then I will be here, night after night taunting you until you do. Sweet dreams, Harry," said Tom, danger coating his words.

And then he woke up.

Shuddering Harry drew his blankets around his shaking form, casting a quick Tempus and seeing it was 3.00am. Flopping down on his pillows he tried to slow his breathing down, his thoughts were streaming through his head faster than a freight train, but as he focused on calming himself down they steadily slowed.

Dream Tom was right. He needed to act. He hadn't thought that right now, fifty or so years in the future Voldemort's tyranny was still playing out, he just wasn't there to witness it.

The future did not stop for time-travel.

The Tom in his dream had pointed out several of his deeper, more terrifying thoughts. Surely if Dumbledore had survived then he would have defeated Voldemort and came to 1943 for Harry? The fact that there had been no sign of the Headmaster other than his auburn haired past self indicated that he was dead.

Voldemort had finally won.

Obviously 3.00am was not the best time on planning how to change this, but it was as if his dream had opened a floodgate. He needed to do something, anything, to ease his conscience.

So, the problems were:

The Horcrux.

The vow.

The only way he could get around the latter was if Tom did not suspect. That way he had to be sneaky, the type of sneaky that was not innate to a Gryffindor. Then again, he was no longer a Gryffindor.

Killing the Horcrux would be trickier though. He would have to kill Tom first - the Heir never let the ring leave his sight, stealing it would be too obvious - and have the means to destroy the Horcrux straight after, before travelling back to the future so he wouldn't be put on trial in 1943 for murder.

And to do that it meant he had to first kill the Basilisk.

Tom already knew of it. If his timeline was correct he had killed Myrtle before the summer...

_'I left behind a diary preserving my sixteen year old self in its pages.'_

The haunting words from his Second Year came back to him, words he had not thought about for a long time, but which at this moment meant more than his twelve year old self could possibly imagine.

There was an incredibly high possibility that Tom had created two horcruxes. Just because he hadn't seen the diary did not mean it never existed, and Tom was sixteen now. That meant he would either have already created it, or he was going to do so in the next three months. Harry was pretty certain it would be the former.

Whilst another hurdle, it still required him to kill the Basilisk soon, and he knew when he would do it. Halloween was in a few weeks - it was strange to think he had been at Hogwarts for so long - and there was a dance - something Harry was glad they had abolished by the time he had actually went to Hogwarts. Tom would be sufficiently distracted by this to not notice Harry's absence. Even if he was caught he could say he was with some girl, and Tom was not the sort of guy who would ask questions about that - except maybe 'Was she a pureblood?'

With the plan firmly in his mind, Harry rolled over and begged sleep to come.

* * *

><p>It is one of the unfortunate facts of the human race that when one wants to sleep one cannot. This is why Harry was in the Great Hall well before anyone had gotten out of bed. Anyone except the person he least wanted to see. Especially when he was this sleep deprived.<p>

"Do you never sleep, or do you just like the zombie look?" asked Tom, as Harry say next to him. It was strange having the table - and if he looked around the Hall - to themselves. Not even the staff were their yet, although checking his watch Harry realised this was because it was 6am and the teachers - unlike himself and Tom - needed as much sleep as everyone else - again, excluding himself and Tom.

"At first it wasn't on purpose, but then I looked in the mirror and thought 'This is the look for me,'" snapped Harry, his fingers curling around the coffee pot possessively.

"You really should see someone about your nightmares," murmured Tom, his eyes drawing away from his breakfast and looking directly into Harry's frazzled ones.

"You really should see someone about your control tendencies," retorted Harry, downing the scalding hot coffee, oblivious to the pain and just needing the caffeine.

"I can help with the nightmares," said Tom, choosing to ignore Harry's remark, and taking the coffee pot for himself.

It was all Harry could do to stop himself from saying, _"Thank you for offering to kill yourself, please do so. Now."_

Instead he chose to say, "I'm not interested."

"But you're not fun when you're tired," Tom sounded almost sad.

"Then give me the coffee!" It almost came out as a growl, but he had had about two hours sleep from Cygnus's non-stop talking about Quidditch tactics. He was worse than Wood!

He was surprised when Tom put the pot in front of him.

Tom, seeing this, smirked. "I can be nice."

Harry never bothered replying, instead filling up his mug and watching the slow trickle of students enter the Hall, their eyes puffy from waking up before the sun had risen.

Sighing, Harry poured himself another mug of what was fast becoming his lifeline. He knew it wasn't healthy, far from it actually, but if his sleeping pattern never changed soon it would become necessary. Unfortunately the only way to change it would be to destroy the man sitting next to him, and who happened to grow up and become one of the most powerful wizard's alive. To put it simply, it was not going to change anytime soon.

It was about 7am when the rest of the Death Eaters made their way into the Hall - no, Harry corrected, THE Death Eaters, saying 'the rest' implied he was one of them which was most certainly not the case.

"I don't know how you both can be up so early," yawned Cygnus, planting himself opposite Tom and Harry, his hands already reaching for the bacon.

"I think we would all be able to manage it if we could sleep through your incessant talk of Quidditch," snapped Lestrange. It appeared Harry wasn't the only one that found this irritating. Not the talk itself, more the time he picked to bring it up.

"Have some House pride," said Cygnus, shrugging off Lestrange's attack. Lestrange paled slightly at this accusation, and rather sensibly held his tongue.

"I heard Slughorn is giving our results from yesterday back today," said Avery, breaking the silence that had descended over the table.

"Great," muttered Harry, stabbing his sausage more forcefully than normal.

"Did you find it hard?" asked Tom, his voice clearly showing he thought Harry was an imbecile if he had found it difficult.

"Unlike you, not every I touch turns to gold." Man, that was snappish even by his standards. He almost jerked off his seat when he felt Tom tap his shoulder.

"And yet you are still... You," Tom feigned disappointment whilst the others looked astonished. Harry knew that Tom wasn't a touchy feely person, but really, was this enough to shock them? Abraxus's widened eyes, very unbecoming of a Malfoy, told him that it was.

"Well then I must be the epitome of excellence," retorted Harry.

"If that delusion makes your life bearable, I really would hate to take it away from you," sighed Tom, acting as if Harry was a lost cause.

"Likewise," was all Harry uttered, Tom arching an eyebrow at this comment, but not giving any reply other than taking a sip of his tea.

That exchange over, Harry could go back to 'grumpy morning' mode.

That was until an owl landed in front of him. Immediately he identified it as one of the school owls. Taking the little scroll - reminiscent to the ones the future Dumbledore would send him, except tied with green ribbon - the bird ate a bit of his toast before taking flight once more. When he actually thought about it, it was very unhygienic... Sweet Merlin, he was starting to think like Tom!

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Your Professors have informed me that your progress in class has improved significantly from when you first arrived here. Due to this, I feel you should undertake your aptitude tests on Friday the 12th of October. Please report to my office at 5pm on this date._

_Hoping you're well,_  
><em>Headmaster Dippet.<em>

One thing he noticed was Dippet wrote more impersonally than Dumbledore. When that rather unimportant fact permeated his brain, he then registered that he had a test. Then he realised he had less than four days to study. Shit.

It appeared Tom had no regards for someone's privacy, for he plucked the scroll from Harry's hand, his eyes scanning it rapidly.

"We should start revising tonight," he said finally, having reached the end of the letter.

"We?" asked Harry sceptically, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes. I told you, I do not have stupid friends, and I would rather not lose you because you failed an aptitude test," Tom acted as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Careful, Tom, you almost sound like you care," said Harry sarcastically.

"In fact, we have a free period first thing. Come on, library. Now," Tom pretended like he hadn't heard Harry's remark. He was scarily like Hermione when it came to studying.

Grumbling, Harry rose from the table. Tom was right, he probably should study for this, and the curriculum would be different in this time.

He never wanted to invent a spell before its time. He preferred just being famous for being The-Boy-Who-Lived thank you very much.

Walking out of the Hall, they left the bemused Death Eaters behind, as well as the shrewd eyes of a certain Transfiguration Professor.

* * *

><p><em>Thank you for the feedback, it really cheered me up about the last chapter! Also, I have over 200 reviews. Thank you! I honestly cannot believe that! And I only have 1 exam left... This is a good moment. :D Anyway, back to the story. As you can see I'm moving the plot on a bit, I'm sure you can picture some of the scenes that will be appearing in future chapters, but if you have any questions then don't hesitate to review or PM me.<em>

**IMPORTANT! If you are interested in the time period this story is set Almanera has an incredbly well written and detailed story called The Darkness in My Veins. It follows the Black family, and details what the Blacks were like at Hogwarts, how they became embroiled with Tom Riddle and later Voldemort, as well as their own twisted dynamic and tradition. To be honest, my words cannot emcompass how amazing this story is, and so here is the link - just remove the spaces. :)  
><strong>

** www. fanfiction s/862 923 2/1/ The- Darkness- in- My- Veins**

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter!_

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Reader - I honestly cannot imagine myself not writing more, I love the characters too much to do that! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far though._

_Bluebird - I hope this chapter was worth the wait too! I really like writing Harry flying, it's one of his favourite things to do so it's nice to give him a break from Tom once in a while._

_Guest - In regards to the bitterness, it was more the situation that made it bitter, not the taste of the potion itself. It honestly will not become slash. I've written that before and this story is supposed to be a challenge so including it would destroy that aspect. I'm happy you like it though, and don't worry, Harry will be casting Dark magic soon… Maybe not well, but still. :)  
><em>

_Escha - I love the enthusiasm! Hopefully this chapter meets your expectations._


	16. Chapter 16

The last place Harry wanted to be with Tom was the Room of Requirement. This was the scene of his defeat, and the return was merely a taunt on the Heir's part.

"Do you mind if I activate it?" asked Harry, not really caring what the answer was. He would be damned if he gave Tom that control again.

"Of course," said Tom, with a smirk. His eyes, however, were almost approving, and Harry felt like a small child who had passed some elder's test.

Walking pacing past the sandstone wall three times, Harry repeated in his head_ 'I need a place to study'._It was almost like the wall was bleeding, the darkness seeping out of the stone before forming a door. It was rather beautiful in a sinister way.

He could feel Tom's approval turn to disapproval the moment they entered, and Harry tried not to laugh.

From ceiling to floor the colours red and gold were everywhere. A burgundy carpet covered the floor, cherry wood shelves looked as if they had sprouted out of it, a large array of books and tomes lying in wait on polished shelves. The ceiling was arched with delicate pale gold, embossed with little phoenixes flying from the four corners of the room into the centre where there was an orb of light illuminating everything. To the far end there were red velvet couches and chairs, not unlike those in the Gryffindor Common Room, and a roaring fire chased away the morning chill.

It was slightly too garish, but Tom's reaction made it completely worth it.

The Heir approached the couches, sitting on the one facing the fire and was evidently trying to touch as little of it as possible.

"It's only a colour," said Harry, sitting in the armchair with a happy sigh.

"Could you be any more Gryffindor?" asked Tom, allowing himself to sit back in a more comfortable position.

"You should have seen my bedroom in the future," replied Harry, still revelling in the young Dark Lord's discomfort.

"Was that a proposition Mr Potter?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"As much as it would flatter you if I said yes, contrary to your belief not everyone thinks you're God's gift to the Wizarding World," retorted Harry.

"No, they don't think it, they know it." If it wasn't for the slightly twitch of Tom's lips Harry would have thought he was being serious. It wouldn't surprise him if he was only half joking though, no one spent that much time on their appearance if they never loved themselves.

"So, what do I need to know to be allowed to stay in Sixth Year?" asked Harry, "I don't want to invent a spell or something."

"Don't be ridiculous, like they would believe you could invent a spell," scoffed Tom, "The Hogwarts Curriculum has barely changed in the past one hundred years, the odds of it having changed by the 1990's is remote."

"So why are we here?" Harry felt the first twinges of discomfort form in his stomach.

"To refresh your memory, being at war and at school at the same time can cause many things to slip ones mind," Tom spoke as if he was talking about the weather, not the destruction of the Light, and Harry felt anger bubble in his stomach, swiftly replacing the discomfort.

"You have no idea what it was like," he hissed, his hands clenching into fists.

"Do I not?" asked Tom, his eyes widening in mock surprise, "You are my enemy in the future so I dare say you know a few things about me from the old goat. Let me tell you, Harry, living in an Orphanage in Muggle London during World War Two is hardly a picnic."

"Magical and Muggle wars differ," retorted Harry coldly. He would not feel sympathy for a man who intended genocide in the future.

"Magical are generally less bloody that is true. I found out exactly what humans are made of the Summer after I started Hogwarts. It was an education," Tom looked almost interested in this, and Harry squirmed slightly.

He had seen Muggles mowed down by bombs and he found it fascinating.

"Do you have no sympathy for them?" asked Harry, disgust colouring his tone.

"Why would I give sympathy to a group of people who despise my existence?" It was evident from his tone that Tom thought this insane.

"And how do you know they despise your existence?" challenged Harry.

"Look at the witch burnings, the anger and jealousy our magic inspires in those cretins. They are filthy creatures trying to become their betters through brutality and destruction," sneered Tom.

"Not all of them," said Harry quietly. Despite Tom's general examples, Harry knew that this hatred was spawned from something more personal.

"Oh, really?" The two words were coated in incredulity.

"Funnily enough, Tom, not everyone is your father." The words were out before he could stop them, and he heard Tom's sharp intake of breath.

"Well if everyone was then I would be rather concerned," said Tom frostily.

"Can you not be even a little more open minded?" asked Harry.

"No." The word was cold, and Harry knew now that he should just drop the subject. It appeared Tom thought this too, for he wandlessly summoned one of the books from the shelves.

This was not going to be fun.

* * *

><p>During Defence Against The Dark Arts Harry could see the Death Eaters glancing between himself and Tom. The Heir had been acting distant to him ever since that disastrous free period. It had turned out that Harry remembered quite a lot from his time. This surprised both himself and Tom, but the young Dark Lord merely brushed it off with a <em>'Perhaps you're not as dimwitted after all'<em>before moving on to the next topic. It seemed endless, and he could practically see the cogs turning in Tom's head, whizzing around so fast and connecting dots that Harry would not even have realised were there.

That was what had him concerned. Tom now knew he knew about his father being a Muggle. What implications could this have? Would he trace him back to the Gaunt's and think Harry knew of the Horcruxes? It was a big leap, but Tom might be capable of such a deduction, only time would tell.

He wasn't surprised when Cygnus and the others approached him after classes. Tom was talking to Professor Merrythought as he usually did, and so it gave the Death Eaters ample time to corner the time-traveller.

"What happened between you and Tom?" The Quidditch Captain was hardly subtle, but that's what Harry liked about him. He was sure the young Black could be when he had to, but they were team mates, and with that came certain levels of trust.

Unfortunately what transpired was not something he could tell him.

"Nothing, he just went over the curriculum and made sure I knew everything," replied Harry with a shrug.

Cygnus's face clearly showed he never believed that, but he remained quiet. "Do you see now how he treats you differently? He would never be that eager to help us."

"You're just his new toy, don't get used to it," sneered Lestrange.

"Jealous?" retorted Harry.

"Hardly," replied Lestrange coldly.

"In class though he was barely looking at you," piped up Avery, and Lestrange looked slightly appeased at this.

"Well he can't admire me all the time," said Harry sarcastically.

"Tom admires no one," said Lestrange, the words more forceful than they needed to be.

"There's always an exception," said Cygnus, shooting Harry a wink.

"Are you implying Tom is gay?" asked Abraxus, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

"I would hope not," came a voice that chilled Harry's blood. Feeling rather like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar they turned as a collective and saw Tom. The Heir never looked angry, in fact he looked rather amused. "Besides, Harry would not be my type."

"I'm too good looking for you." It appeared Harry's brain to mouth filter had failed in this moment and he cringed.

"Did all our studying this morning completely destroy your mind?" asked Tom.

"I think the question is did he have a mind to begin with?" smirked Lestrange.

"Well he certainly had one far superior to your's if Slughorn's test is anything to go by," snapped Tom, and Lestrange ducked his head as if he had been hit.

To be honest Harry had been amazed at getting 96%. He was horrible at Potions, but he just recalled answers from the Half-Blood Prince and got extra points for creativity. Although he did feel slightly guilty for stealing some of Snape's discoveries.

The others looked rather amazed at Tom jumping to Harry's aid. Before he would not have thought anything of it. Gryffindors naturally stuck their heads into situations that did not merit their intervention. Slytherins on the other hand did not help each other, the weakest was merely fodder for the rest of the House.

It was rather sad that the Snake Pit was so hostile, but in that way one could separate the weakest from the strongest, and from that make allies. It was more about politics than just having things in common. Whilst Harry much preferred the Gryffindor way, there was something nice about knowing where you stood in Slytherin. When he had been ostracised by the Gryffindors after the incident with the Triwizard Tournament it had been horrifying to have them all turn on him. At least with the Slytherins it wouldn't have been as much of a surprise.

"Earth to Harry," came Cygnus's voice.

"Huh?" replied Harry, cursing his ineloquence.

"With a brain like that it is a surprise you are not in Gryffindor," smirked Tom. Harry did not appreciate the joke.

"Maybe I'm too much of a manipulative bastard," shrugged Harry, mentally laughing at the image that evoked.

Tom's eyes, however, hardened, and all his amusement faded. Their chatter descended as usual into talk of Quidditch, but no one except Tom realised that Harry's voice was just a little bit strained, his enthusiasm slightly dimmed.

Despite his levity the Heir had indeed deduced something from the scraps of information he had given this morning, and whatever it was clearly did not bode well for him.

Now he just had to figure out what it was.

* * *

><p>It was past midnight. The others had went to bed long before, but it was not an unusual sight to see Tom still sitting in front of the fading embers of the fire. Normally he had a book, but for now his thoughts were enough to fill at least a few volumes. They would suffice for now.<p>

His conversation with Harry today had indeed been illuminating. Obviously since they had been enemies the boy would know things about him that the others were not necessarily aware of. However, he had not anticipated him knowing anything about his father. This was troubling. His father led to Merope, Merope led to Marvolo, and Marvolo would lead to the ring currently resting on the palm of his hand.

It was an incredibly complicated line to follow. Almost all sources about the scandal that was his mother and father had been erased, be it through time or his grandparents on his father's side trying to do damage control.

It would not do for the locals to know the full extent of the scandal after all. The rumours were enough to feed enough hungry minds as it was.

But still, Harry was clever. He may act like an idiotic Gryffindor, but only a true idiot would be unaware of the cold intelligence flowing underneath that.

There was also when he first saw the ring he had looked disappointed. To everyone it was merely a ring, and out of all the reactions to show to a piece of jewellery that was one of the most baffling. However, all the pieces fell into place if Harry knew what it harboured.

The boy had came back to kill him, only to find out he had already secured a means to immortality. Now that would be frustrating.

However, that also troubled him. Harry would be a constant threat. Whilst it was entertaining, and he did have the vow, there was room for error. The charms and protections he kept on himself at all times - doubled when sleeping - minimised the risk, and if Harry had found a way around all of his security measures surely he would have acted by now?

Emotions aside this was one of the most interesting years he had had so far. Last year was close, but that only grew entertaining when the mudblood died, and he felt himself grin as he remembered her last moments. The fact she was a ghost now was only mildly irritating.

Deciding to retire early, he placed the ring back on his finger, instantly feeling the familiar shoot of warmth emanate from it. It settled into a gentle thrum not unlike a heartbeat, and by the time he had reached the staircase it had matched his own.

When he entered the Dormitory the first thing he heard were the muffled cries coming from Harry's bed, the second was Cygnus snoring - it seemed he couldn't even be quiet when asleep. Frowning, he cast a silencing charm, before undressing and climbing into his own.

Harry had clearly suffered a large amount of trauma before his trip back to the past, and Tom felt his curiosity grow as to how this had came about. However, now he would not get answers, and closing his eyes, he fell into a sleep filled with battles, Basilisks, and Harry looking sadly over the whole thing.

* * *

><p><em>Thank you for the feedback, I really appreciate it! Although I'm slightly concerned that the review count was lower than normal, does everyone like where this is going? <em>

_This chapter was more to show how different Tom and Harry's ideologies are, as whilst it's been mentioned a few times, they've never came into direct conflict because of it. Considering it's nearing 1am here, if this chapter is unsatisfactory then let me know, my eyes are starting to itch with tiredness, but I was determined to have it up tonight._

_**Just in case you were wondering, Abraxus's attitude towards homosexuality is in no way my view or one that I would advocate, it is merely representing the time period. Remember, it is 1943.**_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter!_

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Bluebird: Thank you, I'm really glad you like where this is going. Cranky Harry is always entertaining to write... Reminds me of myself in the mornings!_


	17. Chapter 17

The day had finally arrived. Halloween, arguably the day that started all of this only decades later was here. They had just came back to the Common Room from lunch, the chatter in the Hall was excited, and it seemed everyone couldn't wait for the night. Everyone except Harry that was.

He had been going over it in his head for a few weeks now. Tonight he would go down to the Chamber of Secrets and kill the basilisk. When he had a fang in his possession he could then go on and kill Tom when the situation presented itself, before destroying the horcruxes. He still wasn't sure where the diary was, but knowing Tom he would keep it near - if not on - his person. Whilst the plan wasn't fool proof, with the vow in place he had to act when Tom would be preoccupied, and so tonight seemed like the best bet.

The Death Eaters seemed to be looking forward to the dance, though not for the same reasons as the girls.

"I've already got the Firewhisky covered," said Abraxus to Cygnus. The Common Room was empty, and if anyone overheard then no one would dare tell a Professor - it wasn't worth the consequences, and Tom would find out who they were eventually.

"I think Margot was wanting to see me again tonight, but it should help you get some action" replied the Quidditch Captain, grinning.

"I'm a Malfoy, no girl would refuse me," said Abraxus haughtily.

"Well then, Lestrange, how about it?" asked Cygnus.

"I can be rather persuasive without the use of alcohol," retorted Lestrange, and if looks could kill Cygnus would have died three times over.

"You mean like when you asked Greta Milldow out and she refused?" asked Avery, the innocence in his tone causing the others to crack up - Tom just smirked.

"She did regret it later though," Lestrange's face darkened, and Harry shuddered at what he must have done to the poor girl.

"Harry, what are your plans for tonight?" asked Cygnus, the young Black more than aware of the tense atmosphere that had descended after Lestrange's comment.

Harry had to stop himself from saying _'Tackling an incredibly powerful magical creature in order to destroy Tom and save the future'._

Thankfully, however, his future victim stepped in before an answer left the tip of his tongue.

"I am sure Harry will not need to use underhand tactics to secure a girl. In fact, Cygnus, have you ever just tried talking to them?" Tom's voice was frosty, and it appeared the Heir was looking forward to this dance as much as Harry was.

"Yes, but it's easier when they're drunk. When sober you need to act like you actually care," replied Cygnus nonchalantly.

"Whatever happened to Dresilda? You went for one walk and then nothing," Abraxus asked Tom, his curiosity about as well disguised as Hagrid at a gnome convention.

"She had her uses," said Tom coldly, and the others seemed to draw back slightly. Whilst they seemed not to care about women, the way in which Tom spoke made them seem like perfect gentlemen. Somehow Harry knew her 'uses' were probably not the same ones the Death Eaters thought of.

As was a trait only associated with Tom, the Heir had managed to end the conversation. He did this quite a lot. It was as if the Death Eaters were scared to continue, to see just how far gone Tom was from humanity. Surely they had noticed the tendency of his eyes flashing red when he was furious - such displays were rare and not seen by many other than them - but then he gave them power, or at least the key to more power, and so they ignored it.

There was to be no feast that night, only a buffet on the edge of the dance floor. That left nothing left to do with the day except get ready, and so this was why when Abraxus rose from his chair at three in the afternoon everyone snickered - Tom just smirked again.

"A Malfoy should always be presentable," sniffed the blonde boy, holding his head high. Harry grinned, once again noticing the similarities between Draco and his grandfather.

"You might want to help Harry, I doubt he could dress himself properly even if he was surrounded by mirrors and had a House-Elf," remarked Tom.

Harry recalled the actual purchasing of his dress robes and grimaced. Buttons were tricky for Merlin's sake!

However, underneath the banter, there must have been some order in that sentence, for Abraxus then motioned for Harry to join him, his eyes looking worriedly at the back of Tom's head.

There was no way he was going to be preened like a prize poodle without a fight.

"I think I can manage, I'm not an invalid," retorted Harry. He never even looked up from his book - this was a feat in itself, Potions never interested him at the best of times.

"I think you could create a new trend, wearing dress robes backwards..." interjected Cygnus, his eyes lighting up with amusement. Whilst the Black Heir was aware of the tensions between Tom and Harry, Harry bet he was doing this only to annoy him.

Seeing no way out without appearing suspicious, Harry rose and joined Abraxus. When they entered the Dormitory, both pretended to be oblivious to the privacy charms they had just felt rise.

It was obvious Tom wanted to keep him out of the loop. The Heir also knew that he would know it was obvious. Was he trying to tell him something? Warn him perhaps?

* * *

><p>The Great Hall was a mass of colour, it would have been garish if it wasn't so mesmerising. Floating pumpkin and turnip lanterns were scattered through the air, massive grins seeming almost haunting in the darkened room. The floor had been charmed to resemble the ceiling, the walls too, and so to Harry he felt as if he were gliding through the sky, all that was missing was the telltale breeze in his hair. Suits of armour had also been charmed to serve drinks to the students, and Harry shuddered seeing one juggling tumblers before dropping them all in a loud crash. All the tables had been swept to the sides leaving ample room for dancing, and he could see a band - they looked startlingly like vampires - setting up where the staff table normally sat. Apart from the lanterns, the only other source of light were orbs of brilliant white encased in a glass spheres, bitterly reminding Harry of the prophecy he had failed to save in Fifth Year.<p>

His dress robes were not any different from the ones he had had at the Yule Ball. What was different was his hair. Through much cursing and many hair care potions Abraxus had managed to tame it. It was now styled eerily like Tom's, but that was where the resemblance ended. Instead of black, Tom was wearing robes of Midnight Blue, they brought out his eyes magnificently as well as complimenting his pale skin. He had seen many girls admire the Heir in the short walk from the Slytherin Common Room to the Hall. If only they knew what he was really like, then they might think twice.

Abraxus reminded Harry of Draco even more now. The way he held himself was regal - as was the posture of the rest - and his bottle green robes should have been an eyesore, but he was a Malfoy, and as he had bragged to Harry he could pull off anything - except Gryffindor colours of course, the blonde had said with a sneer worthy of his future grandson.

Avery had opted for black like Harry. The difference was that whilst Harry's was trimmed with red - he had seen Tom's nose wrinkle at that - his was trimmed with green. It seemed to be a common theme with the Slytherins. Even when you were allowed to wear anything, everyone seemed to want to stay loyal to their house in some way.

Cygnus was lounging by one of the few tables scattered about the Hall. His grey-almost-silver robes were not creased despite his relaxed posture. Eyes filled with amusement, the young Black surveyed the Hall no doubt looking for prey regardless of the promises he had made to Margot.

Lestrange seemed to be the odd one out. His attire was what Aunt Petunia would call 'drab'. Harry had some difficulty seeing how they were different from his normal school robes. It was only when he moved you could see magic was woven into the material, it made it shimmer almost like silk. It was subtle, but to Harry it screamed 'I can be subtle, but I'm also powerful.' If only he realised that by wearing it he was in fact proving the opposite...

There wasn't much chatter between them. The dance had started at seven and they had arrived at half past - it was never good to look too eager. It was meant to end at midnight, but Harry knew there would be an after party in the Common Room afterwards. No one had really spoken about it, these things were an almost natural add-on to the night/morning.

"It is rather pathetic how they throw themselves at others," said Lestrange, wrinkling his nose in disgust as they saw yet another amorous couple. Harry was quite impressed, they had only had about half an hour... If only he had had that luck!

"Just because it isn't easy for you, does not mean it isn't easy for everyone," said Cygnus with a wink, "Ah, finally."

Harry turned his head to where Cygnus was staring. The blonde haired witch approaching them must be Margot. She was wearing a very low cut emerald dress, exposing her generous bosom and garnering the attention of many of the males she passed. As she walked it was revealed her dress had a slit up the side, giving a glimpse of a tanned, well-toned leg. Despite the attention she was receiving, it seemed she just had eyes for Cygnus.

The-Boy-Who-Lived could clearly see how her reputation had been gained. When she finally made it up to him, without even looking at the others, she plucked the collar of his dress robes, seductively pulling him onto the dance floor before being absorbed by the throng of people.

"He is like a dog the way he follows her," sniffed Abraxus, drawing his goblet to his lips. If the sparks were anything to go by, then there wasn't just pumpkin juice in there. Harry wondered idly where they were hiding the Firewhisky…

"I beg to differ. He has made that cretin desire him, as much as I do not see the attraction he holds for her, she sought him out, pawing at her master the way a good dog should," Tom's words were quiet, but they sliced though the air better than any Cutting Hex.

"W-would you care to dance?" Harry recognised the girl as a Fifth Year Slytherin named Pandora. Judging by her three layers of make-up, elaborately curled blonde hair, and the tight fitting magenta robes she had more than a dance on her mind. He wondered how Tom would get her away from the table. Already the Heir had ridded them of some unsavoury girls, often they ran away in tears. It was pathetic, certainly the girls from his time wouldn't have reacted like that.

It was then Harry realised that she was addressing him, and then he also saw that Tom wasn't saying anything. Bastard.

"Er, sure," he muttered, taking her hand in his. He could hear the wolf whistles Lestrange was mockingly giving, but that never bothered him. It seemed Tom was almost trying to keep him out of the way. Whilst this suited him, one thing Harry had learned over the years was that Fate wasn't as kind as that. If he was unsure after earlier, then this certainly confirmed it. Tom was certainly planning something.

After dancing to a couple of songs - one he vaguely recognised as a more upbeat version of Celestina Warbeck's 'A Cauldron Full Of Hot, Strong Love' - he asked Pandora if she would like to get some fresh air, giving a very Cygnus like grin in the process. He never knew if he was happy or disappointed that she agreed.

When they left the Great Hall she was chatting animatedly about how all of her friends loved Tom, but how she had always seen Harry was the better looking of the two. Any of the Death Eaters would have been flattered to hear such words, Harry just wished she would shut up. His mind had not planned for this, propositioning a girl was well out of his comfort zone as it was.

However, a solution presented itself almost immediately, and whilst he felt sickened by it, he was slightly happy that it would at least keep her quiet for a little while.

"In here," he said gruffly, the first words he had spoken since they left the Great Hall. They hurried into an empty classroom, and Harry quickly shut the door behind him, putting wards up just as a precaution.

Transfiguring one of his buttons into a bottle of Firewhisky, he made a show of taking it out of the pocket of his robes. Turning around he saw she was perched on the Professor's desk, and Harry realised with a shock that this was his Transfiguration classroom - he hoped to Merlin that Dumbledore wouldn't figure this out!

"Oh, Harry," Pandora saw the bottle and smiled seductively, moving just so slightly that her dress rode a little bit higher up her legs.

Moving towards her, Harry smiled when she shut her eyes in anticipation.

"Stupefy," he whispered, the jet of red light hitting the girl in the chest, and she fell rather ungracefully on the desk.

He carried her out into the corridor - making sure no one was there first - and positioned her against the wall, the bottle of Firewhisky lying abandoned beside her limp form. Making sure his wards were down and the classroom looked untouched, he left her there, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt as he did so.

* * *

><p>"This is the <em>girls<em> bathroom!" Harry had not missed Moaning Myrtle's voice, and as he entered the Second Floor bathroom it was the first thing he heard.

Ignoring her insults, he approached the familiar sinks, remembering the first time he had entered the Chamber. At least this time he knew what was awaiting him.

"_**Open**_," he hissed. Myrtle heard this and, with a shriek, disappeared with a large splash down one of the lavatories.

The sink retreated, the sound of scraping stone reverberating off the walls jarred Harry's ears. Once the chasm was revealed, he took a deep breath.

There was no going back now.

One step later and he plunged into the darkness.

He heard the ghostly crunch of animals bones as he landed. It appeared Tom felt himself too high and mighty to clean up. Dusting himself off, he gave a chuckle as searched for a silver lining to this experience and was only able to find 'At least Lockhart isn't with me now.'

Ready to close his eyes at any second, he gingerly progressed through the corridor. The only difference from now to 1993 was the fact that there wasn't a rotting snakeskin leading to the entrance. It was a mild improvement.

After what felt like a lifetime Harry arrived at the entrance. Checking his watch he realised it was now after nine, and it was hard to believe there was a dance going on upstairs.

"**_Open_**," he hissed again, and one by one the snakes twisted and turned, allowing whom they presumed to be the Heir of Slytherin entrance to one of the best kept secrets in Hogwarts' history.

Wrenching the door open he wrapped his dress robes tighter around him. It seemed to be colder in the Chamber than the corridor leading to it. Be that the actual case, or merely his fear at what the Chamber contained Harry couldn't quite tell.

As with the corridor only one thing was different about the Chamber too. This time it never contained the prone form of Ginny, her life-force being sapped out of her by the Horcrux of the boy who was currently dancing upstairs.

This truly was surreal.

It was only when Harry made it up to the vast statue of Salazar Slytherin - the man responsible for many crimes including the ghost now hiding in the U-bend of some toilet - that Harry realised his earlier assumption was in fact wrong.

There were two differences, and whilst the first had been a relief, the second made the temperature of the Chamber fall a few more degrees.

The statue's mouth was _open_. The Basilisk was _free_.

Straining his ears, he tried to listen for it, but the Chamber was anything but quiet. Drips and rattling could be heard everywhere, and Harry realised that it was probably magic that was preventing the chasm from collapsing in on itself.

He wasn't about to go looking for a dirty, great snake that could kill him with one glance so Harry decided on a new tactic.

"_**The Heir of Slytherin commands your presence**_," he hissed. He had been toying with the words 'command' or 'request', but Tom didn't seem to _request_ anything.

Keeping his eyes shut, he heard the approach of the beast, magicking a blindfold on it before it entered the Chamber - Why did he not think of this in Second Year? Sweet Merlin it could move fast! He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt the creature slide against his leg. Was it trying to be affectionate?

"**_Master, I have missed you, have you brought me any more Mudbloods?_**" hissed the now blind Basilisk. Despite the blindfold, it still creeped him out, but he forced himself to remain still.

"**_Given the results of last term it would be unwise to bring you any more, you realise that_**," Harry almost took pity on the creature, if it wasn't an animal created only to kill and destroy.

"_**Yessss**_," replied the Basilisk, her tail thudding to the ground in what Harry assumed to be like a child stamping its foot.

"**_However, I am in need to one of your fangs. If you grant me this request, then in the future you shall be rewarded with more_**," hissed Harry. It was obvious Tom came down here, perhaps not often, but he still did. Harry was pretty sure discovering the rotting body of this snake would give away his plan immediately, this was the better course of action.

"_**Another one?**_" the snake seemed surprised.

"_**Yes**_," Harry wondered vaguely what Tom would have needed a fang for in the past, but that could be pondered over later. Right now he just wanted to get out of there.

"_**As you wish**,_" the Basilisk opened her mouth, inviting Harry to take one.

Using a Numbing Charm - he wasn't cruel like Tom - he waved his wand and extracted one. With another flick a bag appeared, and he placed it carefully in there. There was no Fawkes to save him if he got poisoned this time.

"_**Thank you**_," he hissed, turning to leave the Chamber.

Once out of the Basilisk's sight he magicked the blindfold off, unaware that he wasn't the only one who had witnessed the exchange.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! I am seriously not sure about this chapter. It was by far the hardest I've written, but after several re-writes I realised I'll never be happy with it. If it is incredibly bad then I will try again though.  
><em>

_I'm sure you can all have an incline of where this story is progressing to now! I really wanted to kill the Basilisk, but some of you might have guessed from that that one of the places Tom goes to at night - and the reason he is last in bed - is the Chamber, and it really was too risky to kill it. I figured that the Basilisk with have no idea what the Heir of Slytherin looks like either, it relies on a person knowing Parseltongue, and so it is plausible that Harry could fool it. _

_In regards to that, in an earlier chapter I wrote a flashback of Voldemort and Harry in the Forbidden Forest when Voldemort AK's him. Somehow I totally forgot that that would mean Harry couldn't speak Parseltongue, and so that has now been edited. Sorry if there was any confusion!_

_I'm sorry if this chapter was slow, I've been wanting to write the Chamber scene for ages, but I had to set it up first. Consequences will follow in the next few chapters - although I am toying with throwing in a Quidditch match against Gryffindor so we can see more of Lupin and Charlus. :)_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter!_

_Anonymous Review Replies:  
><em>

_Escha - Thank you, it's just I've received backlash for that in other stories, I didn't want that happening again! I'm glad you're enjoying it!  
><em>

_Mino - Sorry! It will definitely be staying 'friendship' or whatever friendship Tom and Harry can have! In future though I might write a parody of Tom's idea of courtship - actually I probably will, that's a really funny idea! I think that's my night planned... Thank you anyway, and sorry for rambling!  
><em>

_Bluebird - Harry is now thinking more seriously about what he has to do. Not that he wasn't before, it's just before he just desired revenge, and that was blinding him somewhat. There will be waaay more manipulating in the future!  
><em>


	18. Chapter 18

The start of November brought with it unseasonably cold weather. In the mornings mists could be seen rolling over the vast greens surrounding the castle, only to be chased away by the first rays of the weak morning sun. The clouds were often heavy with the promise of snow, and whilst none had fallen as of yet, it appeared just to be a matter of time, and already students were wearing the winter clothes normally reserved for the final month.

However, November did not just bring with it the chill of an early winter, it also brought the much anticipated Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match. Cygnus had been training them hard for weeks, after the confrontation at the failed practice he had doubled his efforts, and Harry was surprised he could still function with the amount of energy he had to invest.

The only thing in his favour was that after his visit to the Chamber he had been sleeping better. Now Ron and Hermione just seemed to lurk at the edge of his dreams instead of occupying the starring roles.

The Basilisk fang was safely tucked away in his trunk. He hadn't bothered to put many security charms on it. Tom could practically smell magic, to do so would only attract the Heir's attention. Now all he had to do was kill him, but right now, one hundred feet in the air searching for a snitch, he was probably the one more likely to die.

Especially since Charlus was barrelling towards him. Swerving, he glared at his grandfather. He would have killed him if doing so would have ended his own existence!

Then again, his ancestor had been doing this to him the whole game. Perhaps not existing wouldn't be too bad...

Like Harry had been in his time, Charlus was the Gryffindor seeker. Although it appeared he hadn't been doing much seeking, instead just trying to knock Harry off his broom.

It was an unfair tactic, but it was working. Harry hadn't had more than five minutes to look for the snitch.

Gryffindor were leading by ten points. The match had been close from the start with both teams seeming to be evenly matched. Lupin was the keeper for the Lions, whilst Cygnus was the keeper for the Snakes. The two seemed to have a good natured rivalry going on, both of them doing exceedingly elaborate moves to keep their hoops safe.

Charlus on the other hand was bloody insane! Now Harry finally knew where he got his daring from.

He could see Tom sitting in the stands. The Heir radiated disapproval. It seemed he wasn't too fond of his new toy risking his life for a cup. He had mentioned many times how he never understood why riding around the world on a twig was so invigorating. Harry and Cygnus had tried to explain, but nothing could quite capture the emotions flying gave you, and Tom had merely raised his eyebrows in a 'and you expect me to take your word on it' kind of way.

Realising he was staring - not that anyone would notice from that height - Harry's eyes returned to the pitch. One of the Gryffindor chasers - he thought his name was McIntyre - had the quaffle and was heading straight for Cygnus.

In that moment Harry saw at flash of gold glinting just above the far right hoop almost touching Cygnus's right leg. Ignoring the others he urged his broom on, his eyes trained on the small speck that was slowly getting larger.

_"And McIntyre closes in, looks like Rosier is attempting to hinder him with a bludger... Wait, Jameson is shooting for the goals..."_

CRACK!

Harry felt his fingers close around the fluttering snitch just as Rosier's bludger hit him in the back of the head.

Next thing he was falling. He was dimly aware the air rushing past him, the shouts from the stands ringing in his deafened ears… And then the darkness descended.

* * *

><p>He knew this feeling. He was so familiar with this feeling that when he opened his eyes he half expected Ron and Hermione to be by his bedside. Seeing the Heir of Slytherin was a little unexpected.<p>

"You really are the most idiotic, boneheaded Slytherin I have ever seen!" hissed Tom, his eyes narrowing into slits, staring into the unfocused ones of Harry.

"I'm not a Slytherin," mumbled Harry. Why was Tom here? Where was Ron and Hermione?

The force of Tom's privacy charms only snapped him out of it a little.

"These will remain up until you regain your sense, I don't want them carting you off to St Mungo's with you telling them stories of time travel and Dark Lords," smirked Tom, as if the image of Harry getting carried out in a straightjacket was somehow amusing.

"What time is it?" asked Harry. His memories were trickling back to him like the sand in a timer. Grain by grain he began to remember what had happened and why he was in the Hospital Wing.

"It's just after ten, you've been unconscious for six hours," said Tom frostily.

As if getting hit in the back of the head by a bludger was his fault. It was hardly like he could have seen it coming!

Naturally Harry voiced this.

"This is what is wrong with Gryffindors, they launch themselves into a situation without actually analysing it," sighed Tom, injecting disappointment into his voice.

"Be careful, Tom, I'm starting to think you actually care," joked Harry.

"I do." To say Tom's words startled him would be an understatement. Harry was just glad he was already in the Hospital Wing, he was sure he could feel a heart attack coming on.

"If there is one thing I have noticed it is that you do not care. Certainly not about followers," Harry practically spat out the word 'followers'.

"Did I not tell you that you would not be an ordinary follower? Granted, I did not use those exact words, but you are different from them," Tom's eyes looked slightly manic as he said this, and Harry tried hard not to inch away from him.

"If this is going to turn into some declaration of love please tell me now so I have time to run away," said Harry, letting a little sarcasm seep into his tone.

"And what if it was..." A look of amusement flitted across Tom's features.

"Tom," Harry uttered the boy's name as a warning.

"Harry," Tom's voice practically caressed Harry's name, but to his relief he could hear an undercurrent of mockery in the tone.

"Where are the others?" asked Harry, desperate to get the conversation onto another topic. He wasn't entirely sure what Tom's sexual preference was, he was certain it wasn't him, but even joking about it was enough to send shivers down his spine. Not the good kind.

"They're doing their homework before going to celebrate". Tom sounded almost like an overbearing mother, and Harry bet they were all grateful he had landed himself in the Hospital Wing ergo earning Tom's attention - it stopped him breathing down their necks to get their work completed to a 'satisfactory standard'.

"We won!" Why had his brain shut out that one, tiny detail? Harry felt a familiar grin spread on his face. Then he realised he was smiling because Slytherin beat Gryffindor and the smile promptly fell.

Unfortunately Tom noticed this, and for someone who had remarkable skill at manipulating social situations to his advantage, his thirst for knowledge was greater than any social nicety.

"What's wrong?" The Heir's eyes had narrowed, scrutinising Harry's face for any hint of pain.

"Nothing," replied Harry automatically. Why couldn't he just ignore it?

"Do I need to order you to tell me?" The reminder of their Vow only sent Harry's mood down further, and he shrank back into the pillows uncomfortably.

"I helped Gryffindor lose," said Harry reluctantly.

"And that means...?" Tom looked nonplussed at this seemingly trivial point. It really was quite amusing.

"I... I played for Slytherin, the House that produces the most Dark wizards and witches. I enjoyed Gryffindor losing."

Tom's eyes shone with clarity. "You are afraid that by winning a Quidditch match for the 'Dark' House against the 'Light' and enjoying their defeat you are becoming Dark yourself since you have aligned yourself with the Snakes?"

Tom had this uncanny knack for making something that felt so profound sound so stupid.

"You do realise that Slytherin has_ not_ produced the most Dark wizards? All the qualities each House possess are able to go both ways. Slytherin's are cunning, but that does not mean evil, it merely means you can manipulate, an ability that is not necessarily a bad thing in certain situations. Ravenclaw's are notorious for letting their thirst for knowledge interfere with ethics. Hufflepuff's are generally more impartial, but not having an opinion can result in a variety of negative consequences. Gryffindor's charge in first and ask questions later, many have died or been maimed because of such rash action-"

"You do realise I'm recovering from getting a bludger to the head, right?" interrupted Harry.

"I doubt your intelligence could get any lower regardless," replied Tom quickly.

"Well I am friends with you," retorted Harry, "So are you saying it depends on the person and how they chose to use their skills or traits, not the House they were placed in?"

"Very good," Tom looked approving.

Harry thought back to his time. The best example he could think of was Severus Snape. The Slytherin had been a double agent since the day Harry's parents had died. He used his cunning and intelligence to try and do good - Harry was very much aware that this 'good' was killing the boy currently sitting by his bedside.

He never even noticed Tom leaving.

* * *

><p><em>They were barricaded themselves in the office. The Death Eaters could be heard racing across the grounds. Many of the portraits had fled to their other frames housed in a building far from the battle. If you could even call it a 'battle' anymore.<em>

_Harry was trying not to be sick. He could still hear the sounds of Snape's gurgled gasps, blood streaming from the wounds Nagini had inflicted on him as he lay on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. _

_In his final moments the Potions Master had looked into Harry's eyes, eyes so similar to the woman he had loved, and given Harry his final gift with a rasped "I tried."_

_What had he tried?_

_Dumbledore was rummaging through his desk, and whilst Harry knew his mind should have been on the matter at hand, he found his hand moved into his pocket, taking the phial containing the dead man's memories and tipping them into the penseive sitting on one of the many spindly legged tables._

_It wasn't as if he could be of any help to the Headmaster just now anyway, and if he was going to die he'd rather Snape's comment never haunted him in the time it took for him to join him in death._

_"Harry, be quick," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes sparkling with happiness at a time that really never merited it._

_He saw the memories fly past as if he was watching a film. Snape's decent into Darkness before resurfacing into the Light after the death of Harry's mother, the love of his life, because of information he had passed to Voldemort. _

_The guilt the man had suffered would have felled any lesser mortal. Instead he had watched over Harry, and looking back Harry could see it all now, and how he had attributed the Potion Master's concern to him being a 'snarky git.'_

_All of this to atone for one fatal act._

_When Harry emerged, Dumbledore smiled at him. Once again it was out of place for the situation._

_"I wanted to tell you for years, but to do so would have put Severus in immense danger," said Dumbledore sadly, fiddling with what appeared to be a time turner. _

_"He did all of that for my mother," whispered Harry, and despite the yells of the Death Eaters approaching the castle his utterance sounded as loud as canon fire._

_"Love can power many things, and now I must ask that your love does the same," replied Dumbledore._

_Less than five minutes later the Death Eaters descended and Harry was in 1943._

* * *

><p>Tom watched with interest as Harry's eyes misted over. They were not the cobwebs of concussion, but more the grasp of memory. He wished he knew what he was thinking of, but those disgusting specimens Harry called friends blocked his every attempt.<p>

Seeing Harry wasn't going to start talking any time soon, he lowered his privacy charms and called the nurse over. Moments later he was being ushered out as Harry was forced to take a Sleeping Potion.

Walking back to the Common Room Tom allowed himself to reflect for a moment on the events leading up to Harry's injury.

Harry's discussion with the Basilisk intrigued him. He had been a fool to think he would not have followed him. The parseltongue was especially strange. It seemed remote that he was a relation to Salazar Slytherin, at least one close enough in blood to possess that ability.

He had entertained the notion of Harry being his son, or in some way related to him, but that would not account for the death of his parents fuelling his rage - unless he meant symbolic death, but that was highly unlikely.

What really mattered was that Harry knew about the Horcruxes, and he was planning on destroying them.

It really wasn't that surprising, but his cunning had shocked him. For a Gryffindor he was incredibly good at behaving like a Snake, despite his teasing implying the contrary.

He couldn't remove the fang from his trunk. Doing so would only alert Harry to his knowledge, and like a true Slytherin he held his cards incredibly close to his chest.

However, he had the Vow if it came to it, and he had more than doubled the security charms surrounding the two pieces of his soul.

There was no way Harry would get to them.

The real question was if there was any way he could get Harry to join him now? The boy had been incredibly stubborn in holding onto his goal. Most would have abandoned it by now, but Harry had never given in despite the obstacles.

He knew it would be better to kill him. He could even leave his body in the Chamber, give the Basilisk a treat - not that it deserved it after being stupid enough to believe Harry's ruse. No one would ever find him, Harry Jameson would just cease to exist.

However, Tom hadn't lied to Harry when he said he cared about him. Not in the conventional sense. It was only in the sense that he never wanted him damaged by others. Harry was his, and killing him would be a last resort. Even the most difficult horse can't fight forever after all.

That never meant he would hesitate if it came down to it, but Harry was proving a worthy opponent, and it would give him great satisfaction when he broke. Killing him unless absolutely necessary would just be a waste.

He would just have to keep an even closer eye on things.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! I'm sorry this has taken so long, my life has gotten pretty hectic with university starting again and my work throwing more than a little overtime at me! *sigh* I also apologise if this is awful. I've been writing it bit by bit for a while now, so I hope it at least flows, but this is the best I can offer right now._

_Anyway, if you're wondering why Tom doesn't just kill Harry then it's because Harry is too valuable to waste. He will only do that as a last resort, and right now he is like a cat who is stalking a mouse - in the sense that it knows its every move and is merely toying with it for fun._

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter._

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Bluebird - I can honestly see Harry doing something like that. :D This should hopefully give some insight into what Tom is planning, but if my plan works then you'll find out in a few chapters._

_Escha - Thank you, I'm glad you liked it! As you can see here there are quite a few plans in motion, whilst Tom will not kill Harry just for the fun of it, he is having to face the possibility that he cannot convert him._

_Guest - Here's a new chapter! I hope it doesn't disappoint, I'll try not to leave it so long next time. :)_


	19. Chapter 19

Harry loved the sense of freedom he always got after leaving the Hospital Wing. Tom had been kind enough to summon the Nurse, and after a short verbal battle and a Sleeping Potion he was feeling more than a little dazed. Intoxicated by freedom perhaps?

It was a sunny day. The type of day when the sky is clear, the cerulean hue making one think it was unseasonably warm, and he had already seen more than a few students hurrying along, the cold biting at their ankles as they had attempted to don their summer gear once more.

He was still in his Quidditch uniform, as whilst the Heir had been nice to visit him, he hadn't brought him a change of clothes.

Tom - 0

Ron and Hermione - 1

He had to admit Tom's declaration of friendship had unnerved him. Was the man who - in the future - was responsible for the fall of British Wizarding society really that naïve? The lost boy from the orphanage happy to have found someone like him.

Wait, had he just admitted to similarities with Tom?

If he thought about it he could have became him. The Dursley's treatment of him, whilst not as extreme as the abuse Tom suffered, was similar. As was the Sorting Hat wanting to put him into Slytherin. It was conscious choices that had made him pick the Light, but then he was surrounded by the Light. The first wizards he met were the Weasley's, and they were as Light as Lumos in a Dementer infested field. Maybe Tom had not been as fortunate?

"Ah, Harry!" Even fifty years younger Harry could immediately recognise the voice of the man responsible for his time-travel.

"Sir," Harry nodded. He hadn't been paying much attention to where he was going, but almost crashing into Dumbledore when he was wearing a maroon crushed velvet robe meant he probably needed to get new glasses.

"Splendid work at the Quidditch match, is that you just released from Rosemary's care?" Dumbledore smiled warmly at him, and Harry assumed Rosemary was the name of the nurse.

"Yes, my head is still a little fuzzy, but nothing freedom can't cure," Harry let his annoyance at being hospitalised shown, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"I used to hate going to the Hospital Wing too, but by Sixth Year I had gotten pretty adept at healing myself - not that I advise you do the same, it can go wrong." Dumbledore tapped his nose and winked, and Harry wondered how many times he had had to repair it. "I almost forgot, we received your results back this morning by the way, would you care to come to my office to collect them?"

"Eh, sure," said Harry, slightly bemused why Dumbledore was telling him and not Dippet.

The more he thought about it the surer he got that Dumbledore wanted to talk to him about his mission. The school had owls, why not send him his results via them?

They were silent on the walk to the future Headmaster's office. The powerful strides of a man who looked as if a breeze could topple him - until you looked into his eyes - never failed to amaze Harry.

Dumbledore's office was a more cramped version of his one in the future, and there were slightly less silver spindly things scattered about the shelves. If an alien came down and the first thing they viewed was this office, they could be sure of one thing. The occupant was a massive fan of magenta.

"I apologise for not informing you sooner, with a mind as vast as mine things tend to get lost. It can sometimes take me days to find my spectacles," said Dumbledore, taking a seat behind his rather cluttered desk. The words 'organised chaos' immediately sprung to mind.

"That's fine, the nurse made me talk a Sleeping Potion, I was dead to the world," replied Harry, moving to the chair in front of the desk.

Whilst not as grand as his later office, it certainly possessed a kind of majesty, but Harry suspected that was more to do with the occupant rather than the contents.

"I confess I asked you here for another reason as well," Dumbledore looked almost uncomfortable now, and Harry leaned forward in his seat slightly. Finally, they were getting to the point. "How is your progress going with dealing with Mr Riddle?"

"It is going according to plan, Sir," said Harry carefully. What his observations of this Dumbledore had told him was the man would not appreciated him being sent back to kill one of his students. He would not know of the horror Riddle was capable of, merely suspicious, and suspicions were not enough to tolerate murder.

"You seem very close lately," he could hear the curiosity in Dumbledore's tone, many wouldn't be able to detect it, but Harry had known him long enough.

"That is only on the surface," said Harry, his stomach filling with unease. Looking Dumbledore straight in the eye he clamped down on his emotions.

"If you plan to convert him to the Light, I must warn you, Riddle can be very charming. I am merely concerned that you might be seduced by him into joining the Dark. My future self was quite anxious about that also."

Harry felt like he had been punched in the gut. Not only was this Dumbledore concerned about his  
>loyalty, but the future one as well.<p>

"You need not be concerned," Harry was well aware he was sounding more like Tom now, "I will not be swayed. I do not know the full extent of your knowledge, but he destroyed my parents and everything I hold dear."

"I do not underestimate your loss, I only ask that you proceed with caution," Dumbledore looked almost pleadingly at this point, but Harry was far from caring.

"Do you have my results?"

"Here, I must say congratulations on Transfiguration, one of the best scores I have seen in a long time." And with that the atmosphere shifted, the tension draining out of the room like water down a plug hole.

"I meeting friends, so I should go before I'm late," Harry deliberately said 'friends' but Dumbledore's expression never changed.

"If you do have anything you need to discuss, I am here," were his final words, dismissing Harry with a cheery wave.

Once out in the corridor, Harry felt his hands curl into fists. Stuffing the report in his pocket he made his way to the Great Hall. It was almost dinnertime now, the sun having set in the brief time he was in the future Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore never trusted him. Even after all he had been through, his parents, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid's deaths - and countless others - he thought he could join the man responsible for all of that...

"Harry!" Cygnus looked happy to see him, and the Quidditch Captain rose from his seat to give him a rare hug. "We won!"

"That was a great catch, Harry, although remind me never to give you my broom," said Abraxus, piling steak pie onto his plate.

"A great catch? He almost got himself killed, the idiot!" spat Lestrange.

"For once I must agree with Lestrange," said Tom. Lestrange looked as had swallowed rainbow his smile was so big. "Do not put yourself in danger again, Harry."

Maybe he was just being paranoid, but Harry was pretty certain they weren't talking about Quidditch anymore.

"It's not my fault a bludger smacked into me!" protested Harry, taking his regular seat next to Tom.

"So danger is just attracted to you?" Tom murmured, and only Harry could hear the seductive tone beneath the scorn. Why was he still messing with him? Bastard.

"It's nothing I can't handle," replied Harry coldly, injecting steel into his voice. If Tom was going to continue to be a prat he would be damned if he just sat by and did nothing.

"One day you won't say that." Harry could tell that everyone at the table was bemused by their conversation, and tried to turn it back to Quidditch. "So what happened after I got knocked off my broom?"

"Well Tom slowed your descent, and the game ended. I think McIntyre felt pretty bad about it," replied Cygnus.

"Thanks," said Harry simply.

"No problem." Tom never even looked up from his plate.

"I still think we should have made him pay," growled Lestrange. Harry wasn't so naïve to think he was talking about avenging him, more the honour of Slytherin having one of their players knocked out by a Gryffindor.

"It was a risk of the game, Harry knew what he was getting into when he joined the team," said Tom frostily. Harry was more than certain that Tom was having two conversations, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what that meant.

He felt like he was in a shark tank and his nose had just started bleeding. Now he just had to wait for the shark to rear its head.

* * *

><p>It seemed Tom was finished with his games by the time evening fell. They were sitting in the Common Room, as per usual they occupied the seats at the front of the fire. Not that the dungeons were cold, but there was only so much warmth enchanting heating could put in you.<p>

Tom was writing an essay they had received that day, his quill moving so fast that it was almost a blur. How his hand didn't get cramp Harry never knew. Lestrange and Abraxus were playing chess, with Avery reading up on Potions because his last test had been below average. Cygnus was nowhere to be seen, but Harry knew he was meeting Margot.

And he was... Twiddling his thumbs.

Merlin, he was bored. Because of his injury he had been advised not to do his homework that night since he was still recovering. Of course he would do it tomorrow, but that never helped him right now.

Harry never thought he would ever be wishing he could do his homework.

"Harry, you're fidgeting so much they can hear you in Durmstrang," complained Tom, his hand continuing to write whilst he was talking.

"I just want something to do." Harry had never coped well with doing nothing, and now was no exception.

"Actually can you get me my "101 Herbs and Plants" book, Harry? It's by my bedside cabinet," muttered Avery, too engrossed in the book he was currently reading.

Whilst Harry never liked being treated like an errand boy, it did give him something - albeit menial - to do, and so he made his way up to the dormitory.

Crossing over the room, he spotted Avery's book right away, and was about to make a beeline for it when something gold caught his eye.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle_

The gold lettering shone brightly underneath the flickering candles, peaking out from the stack of books piled on Tom's bedside cabinet.

Harry felt all the breath go out of him.

He had seen in the future that Tom would not feel it if the horcrux was destroyed, and it took him less than a minute to make is decision. In two he was holding the basilisk fang above it.

If Dumbledore saw him now he would not doubt him. He would not be taken in by Tom, and the Heir was beyond saving, of that he was certain.

His hands were trembling, and in one motion he felt the fang lodge into the paper, the venom seeping through his torn pages.

Then everything seemed to happen at once. In one moment he was upright, the next he had been blasted to the other end of the room, the diary torn from his grasp... No, not the diary, the cover had drained away to reveal an ordinary jotter...

Harry's blood ran cold, and looking up, he saw Tom shaking his head as if he had failed him somehow.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I'm really sorry about the wait for this chapter! I've had exams, essays, work, and found a house to move into after term finishes. It's been pretty hectic! Thank you for your feedback, and as you can see we are almost at the end of this story. Next chapter will decide everything, and it won't be as long a wait as last time since my term finishes in a week! _

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter._

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Bluebird - I'm glad you still like their interaction. It really is a joy to write, and there will most certainly be more in the next chapter. _

_Emi - I'm sorry this was a quick update, but next time it will be. I promise._

_Guest - No problem, thank you for reading. J_

_Escha - Thank you! I really don't blame the Slytherins for doing that to be honest, he can be a little intense sometimes so it'd be good to get away. Haha, I think if Tom and Harry had more time to themselves Harry would have gotten himself killed by now!_

_Evanthe - Here's another one. J Thank you for taking the time to catch up! _


	20. Chapter 20

"Expelliarmus!" bellowed Harry, the jet of light shooting towards Tom. The future Dark Lord negated it with a lazy flick of his wand.

"You really hope to stop me killing you with a disarming spell?" Tom's mocking voice rang in his ears. By God his head hurt. He had landed harder than he thought he would, and now his vision was still slightly blurry.

"Protego!" Harry blocked a vibrant shot of purple light. It did not look like it was as friendly as his disarming spell.

The thumping in his head got worse.

"Immobulus!" Again Tom deflected, and Harry staggered into one of the beds.

"You are weak," sneered Tom, and Harry gazed at him through stinging eyes, "As much fun as you are to play with, I think you need a few accessorises."

In the next moment Harry felt ropes winding their way up his arms, effectively pinning him to the bed. He never understood how some people found this arousing, all he felt was terror as Tom moved forward until he was crouched in front of Harry. There was only one emotion swirling in his gray eyes: Pity.

"Why didn't you just order me to sit down an be quiet?" spat Harry, tugging at his restraints which only served to chaff his wrists.

"I told you that I would never control you. Despite being a Slytherin I do occasionally keep my word," Tom looked mildly amused as he survey Harry immobilised on the floor.

"And yet you've only watched my every move since I arrived here in this godforsaken year."

"You've disappointed me, Harry. From those observations I had pegged you as being clever, I had hopes of you joining me-"

"I'd never join you," spat Harry, Tom's face merely centimetres away from his own.

"Oh, but you would have. We could have been great together. With our powers combined we would have conquered the world. But alas, due to your actions tonight I see that possibility has been scattered to the wind." Tom's eyes lit up as he described their shared future, the madness of his future years lurking behind the exuberance. In a way he sounded like a teacher who was disappointed in their star pupil. Harry suppressed a shudder.

"What is the point in ruling the world if you destroy yourself in the process," Harry's eyes moved towards the jotter/diary, the basilisk venom soaked into its traitorous pages.

"These do not destroy me, they empower me. How can you end the reign of an immortal? Clearly I have succeeded since you only found my weakness in the past." Tom moved away from him, sitting on the floor a few feet away, acting as if they were having a normal conversation and Harry wasn't immobilised in front of him.

"You went too far," whispered Harry.

"I went too far? You're the one who has tried to kill me. I believe it is you who is out of order," said Tom frostily.

"No... You misunderstand," croaked Harry. He felt the pain subsiding, giddiness taking its place as his mind tried to shield him from the situation.

He had failed.

Dumbledore had been right, he should have been more careful. Just like Sirius's death, his rash action had doomed the future, this time it wasn't just his godfather though, it was everyone.

If he had been able to change the future then no one would have died. He had let down both the dead and the living.

"Oh? What do I misunderstand? You have came from the future to the past to destroy me, I murdered your parents, and defeated the Light. Really, Harry, the future does seem to be in my favour just the way it is. Do you not agree?"

"No," said Harry simply, looking Tom square in the eyes. His blue orbs were calm, a hint of madness lurking at the edges.

"And why is that?" Tom looked genuinely curious.

"Because you lose the one thing that you truly value. Your rational mind. You become a monster, but if there is one thing I've noticed since coming here is that you lost more than your humanity by making Horcruxes. You lost... You," Harry finished lamely.

"Am I meant to be touched by that? Power is everything, you merely think I am mad because you do not see where I come from," sneered Tom.

"I do not see where you come from? I grew up in a house with abusive relatives, abandoned by the Wizarding World like you were in the orphanage. The only reason I knew I was a wizard and not a 'freak' was because Hagrid told me on my eleventh birthday. Dumbledore manipulated me from the moment I was born, and yet he had good intentions at the heart of it. But do you know what saved me when I almost turned Dark?" Tom looked surprised that Harry had almost crossed over, and he thought better than to mention it was because he also had Voldemort trying to break into his head.

"Please don't tell me it was_ love_," the word fell off Tom's lips like it was a curse.

"It was my friends. They intervened, just like I'm trying to do with you," said Harry seriously.

"Your intervention is not wanted nor needed. I am the future ruler of the Wizarding World, why would I let you stop me?"

"Because we're friends. You're an insufferable smart arse who feels the need to torture once in a while, but despite that I like you."

"Well that was rather backhanded. How do I know you're not lying? Whilst not in the typical Gryffindor nature, it is part of the Slytherin, and you fit perfectly into both."

"I'll show you."

"Harry, the last time I tried to read your mind the cretins that you call your friends blocked me."

"You tried to read my mind?" Well this was new news to Harry, but then he wasn't that surprised at that, more that he had managed to stop one of the most powerful Legilimens in the world. Snape would be rolling in his future grave.

"Exactly," Tom rolled his eyes.

It was strange, despite Harry being bound and minutes away from death if he never played his cards right, they were having banter like usual. Their relationship was one hundred kinds of fucked up.

"Try again."

"Are you ordering me?" Tom looked incredulous, "If you weren't already aware, prisoner and captor etiquette means the control lies in the captor's hands. Considering you are the one bound at my feet, what role do you think you fall into?"

"Shut up! I'm just trying to give you options!" yelled Harry.

"And how will I know these memories are not fake?" asked Tom, arching one eyebrow challengingly.

"Tom, you are one of the best mind readers in the world where I'm from, if not the best. I'm sure you'll cope," replied Harry patronisingly.

And before he even had time to pull up his memores, Tom uttered 'Legilimens'.

* * *

><p><em>Harry never knew that he still had this memory. Cream curtains billowed in the autumn breeze. It was night time, and whilst he could not remember the place, he knew that it was his home. Not Hogwarts, not the Dursley's, but the place in which both his parents had given their lives for him.<em>

_A cot stood in one corner, a baby sat in it, jet black hair already messy, emerald green eyes staring at the redheaded woman who was frantically trying to shut the door. His small, unscarred forehead wrinkled in confusion, as Lily then turned to him, tears streaming down her pretty, heart shaped face._

_Harry and Tom stood by the window. Already he could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. They had that sense of finality about them, and he could see in his mother's eyes that she knew this would be her final night in this realm._

_"Where are we?" asked Tom._

_"My house. That is you coming up the stairs, about to kill my mother and try to kill me to erase the prophecy," said Harry, his mouth tasting like ash as the door which Lily had hastened to fasten moments ago was blasted open._

_Lily ran to the cot, placing herself between the intruder and her son. Harry could only stare as she refused to move, the blast of green light ending her defiance, her eyes blank as she crumpled to the floor._

_It was then that Voldemort advanced on the cot. Beneath his hood you could see the insane, red eyes boring into the emerald green of the baby he was preparing himself to murder. Harry felt Tom recoil slightly, and when the fatal curse was cast, he saw Tom's eyes widen as it was repelled, hitting his future self instead._

_Harry assumed it wasn't nice to watch yourself die - well, nearly die - but his eyes were only for the baby. His face was scrunched up, tears leaking from innocent eyes as he tried to get his mother to wake up._

_"I've had enough here. Next," said Tom, his tone indicated boredom, but Harry could hear the shock beneath those simple words._

* * *

><p><em>His mind just had to pick the sodding graveyard. As if he never saw enough of it in his dreams already.<em>

_The Death Eaters had formed a circle, the tombstone where Harry was bound marked the head._

_Tom stood next to him, his eyes moving rapidly, taking in everything from the giant cauldron at the centre to the cut on Harry's arm._

_But then he saw Voldemort._

_He watched the grotesquely snake-like man hiss and sneer at his followers, punishing those who had deserted him in his time of need._

_Tom looked at him, a rare moment when all that was swimming in his eyes was confusion._

_"After the events when I was a baby, you were a spirit roaming the forests of Albania, inhabiting any creature that crossed your miserable path. Wormtail found you," Harry pointed at the snivelling man, his new, silver hand glinting in the light of the moon. "He helped you regain strength and set up the events that led me to you."_

_"Why did I need you?" asked Tom, his eyes shining with revulsion as he took in his future appearance._

_"Because I was your downfall. It was prophesised that a child born at the end of July, and whose parents had thrice defied you would result in your death. As you saw you were hasty, going to my residence, and killing my mother as she threw herself in front of me, giving her life to protect me. Nothing is stronger than a mother's love, and because of this when you made your move to kill me, it backfired, turning you into something less than life."_

_"Love did that?" sneered Tom, but Harry could see the cogs turning in his mind._

_"Yes, it does not make you weak like you believe. Here is the proof," Harry gestured to the events going on in front of them._

_Turning back to the scene they saw that Harry and Voldemort were duelling, the gravestones destroyed as Harry hid, before gathering his strength and facing the Dark Lord._

_They saw the spirits of those Voldemort had felled, shimmering in the glowing thread emanating from their wands. Harry could hear Tom inhale sharply as his parents appeared, backing up all of what he had said so far. Although the more bitter part of him thought that Tom was merely impressed with this rare piece of magic._

_Although it ended before he had a chance to read more into Tom's behaviour. When Harry's hand touched the Triwizard Cup, the memory concluded, tearing apart like cobwebs in the wind, before everything went dark._

_The last thing they heard was Voldemort's agonised cry._

* * *

><p>Once again the dormitory materialised in front of them, and Harry stared up at Tom, looking to see any change. He looked uncertain, and Harry felt a stab of sympathy for the future Dark Lord. He had just witnessed himself as a mad, snake-like monster, and seen that even though he was powerful, he had no one to help him, but a weak Gryffindor traitor when he had needed it most.<p>

How different that was from the Tom he now saw in front of him. This Tom needed no help, relied on nothing, and still had his sanity. Harry just hoped he wasn't so power mad as to go down the destructive path his future self had.

"Tom, are you alright?" Harry asked after five minutes of total silence.

"Horcruxes turned me into that?" asked Tom finally.

"Yes, long before that prophecy was even made. With each piece of your soul that you sliced off, you became more unstable, and whilst you have won the war, I'm afraid you will never win the people or your followers fully. You saw that only one came to help you, and he never even truly believed, he was just using you for protection as he betrayed the Light."

"I'm not doing it for friends," snapped Tom, and Harry could see that never troubled him. It was the loss of his sanity, and the fact he had to rely on others that truly troubled the Heir.

Minutes passed, and Harry could see that Tom was thinking furiously about something, and he hoped it wasn't what way he would most prefer to kill him. Although he certainly wasn't expecting the next few words that came out of Tom's mouth.

"So once I tried to kill you, everything that comprised me left and I became a spirit. This was because of your mother's love… Yes, that adds up better…" Tom was speaking to himself, and Harry was baffled as to what was going on in the Heir's mind.

"Earth to Tom," said Harry, and he saw Tom look at him more clearly than he had in a while. It was as if a puzzle piece had fallen into place, and he was seeing Harry for who he really was.

You're a horcrux," said Tom finally.

"What?" Harry had thought that he was thinking about changing his ways, not that… Wait, he was a horcrux?

And then the pieces fell into place. Why Voldemort had become less than human after his curse backfired, why he could speak Parseltongue, why he could see into Voldemort's head with alarming ease…

"Well I have to admit that's slightly better than you being related to me," said Tom nonchalantly.

"Why are you not freaking out about this?" demanded Harry.

"Need I remind you of prisoner, captor etiquette again?" asked Tom.

"Tom, I have a piece of you inside me!" yelled Harry.

Tom looked at the door. "Really, Harry, what will they all think now?"

"Look, as much as I love this situation, can we move it along. Are you going to kill me?" Harry was sick of waiting, and as much as he loved living, at least when he was dead he would see his family and friends again...

"Why are you smiling?" asked Tom, a wary look flashing across his features.

"Because when I'm dead I'll see everyone again," Harry was pretty sure he had finally lost it.

"I'm not going to kill you," said Tom simply.

"I've not seen them in... Wait, what?" Harry felt sense return to him, and he threw an incredulous look at the Heir.

"I'm not going to kill you. Believe it or not, I'm rather fond of you, and well, you see I have another idea."

Harry so did not like where this was going.

"Now, I've noticed for quite some time that there is a Time-Turner around your neck. How many turns to take you back?" asked Tom.

"Why are you sending me back?" asked Harry.

"You'll see. Ah, this will do," Tom had fished the Time-Turner from underneath Harry's shirt - damn, his fingers were cold!

"Goodbye, Harry, I'll see you soon," said Tom, smirking at Harry's outraged expression.

In a few turns, Harry saw 1943 disappear, the last thing he registered was Tom's eyes, and it might just be the stress he had just been put under, but he swore he saw sadness.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the feedback! I'm sorry this has taken so long, I kept writing, deleting, and writing some more, but finally I have a version that I quite like - I'm not totally in love with it, but there's nothing else I can really do. If it is really bad though then I can re-write. I was trying to keep them in character whilst moving the plot along. Harry can't stay in 1943 forever. The next chapter should have some from Tom's POV to explain why he's decided not to kill Harry, so please bear with me. Sorry, I'm just really nervous about this chapter. Babbling over._

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. *sigh*_

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_Dianadenisa - Sorry, but this is not slash, however, I may write a one-shot afterwards, as you're not the first to want it to turn into romance! :)_

_Guest - About the wait, I'm sorry, but here it is... Finally. Although this was the hardest chapter to write, so it shouldn't be so long until the next one._

_Yume - I hope you liked what happened next! _

_Sage - Thank you, but this one won't turn slash, but as I said I am seriously considering writing a slash one after this. I feel my writing has improved significantly since my past attempts - the key word being 'attempts'. ;)_

_flaming rose - And now all your questions have been answered - I don't get to say that often! I hope it didn't disappoint._


	21. Chapter 21

Harry opened his eyes, the colours searing his vision and making him shut them once more. Squinting, he caught a glimpse of something red... No orange, with flecks of yellow. The smell of smoke and ash singed his nostrils, the sounds of screams pierced his ears like surgical tools do a cadaver.

Where was he?

Last thing he remembered was being in the dormitory. Tom had just blasted him across the room, and instead of killing him he had sent him back.

Sent him back to a war zone it seemed.

Black clouds of smoke billowed up from the buildings around him. Looking through the haze, it seemed as if he was in a street. People were running, moving away from masked wizards marching up the cobbles in V formation.

Their masks were silver, glinting in the lights of the fire that their wands had started, and from them radiated pure and undiluted power.

Starting in his temples pain began to build, radiating out until it coated his whole skull in a thick layer of agony.

He had seen this before... But where?

A cauldron... Bound to a headstone... Cloaked figures... Voldemort.

Death Eaters.

Looking up he saw a sign from one of the buildings fall to the ground. The word Honeydukes was soon rendered to ash.

And then, with a flash he realised where he was. He was in Hogsmeade, the village just outside Hogwarts. A village that was under siege from an enemy that he should have destroyed...

If they were here then where was Voldemort?

A small boy tripped over the remains of a fruit wagon, his tear-streaked face looking up into the cold ones of his advancing attackers.

No.

Running towards the battle, Harry could feel the smoke searing his lungs with each breath, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the cries of the young boy, too overcome with fear to move.

"Expelliarmus!" he bellowed, a flash of light jetting from his wand. One of the Death Eaters flew back into what used to be Zonko's. He did not get up.

"Crucio," one of the masked figures yelled back, and dodging the red stream of light, Harry found himself next to the boy. He held out a hand and the sniffling child took it, big blue eyes looking at him with gratitude.

"Run, go and find your mother, I'll keep them back," said Harry quickly. The boy nodded, his little legs carrying him quickly down the street.

Turning back towards the mass, Harry shot a stream of spells at them, but it was so hard to see through the flames and ash that he wasn't sure if any hit their mark.

And then, seemingly from nowhere, another figure joined the fray. He was slender, a navy cloak billowing in the wind; the added effect of the smoke made it almost mythical.

In less than five minutes half of the enemies were felled, and the others started to disapparate, the pops created from their magic filling the small, decimated street. And all of this happened without the cloaked figure uttering a word.

However, Harry could feel the magic pulsing in the air. He had used nonverbal spells, but that didn't mean that there was no magical signature. In fact, this signature seemed familiar and, as if reading his mind, the figure turned to face him, eyes that he had technically not seen in over 50 years now gazing his way.

As if flicking a switch the pain overtook him once more, like nails piercing his skull and digging deep into his brain.

In a second he was falling into the dust, and moments later the blackness had overtaken him.

* * *

><p>"Albus, do you not see what is happening here?" a frustrated voice sounded from far away.<p>

"Tom, of course I do, but you cannot out them. There is no proof," came a slightly calmer and older voice.

"They will destroy me," hissed who Harry assumed to be 'Tom'.

"No they will not, eventually they will become too arrogant and their arrogance will lead to their defeat."

"But when? If I cannot stop them before the next election then we will have lost before the ballots even open."

"We shall discuss this later, Tom, Harry's awake," said Albus urgently.

It appeared Harry's eyes had chosen to open at this moment. Using his peripheral vision he saw he was lying on a couch of some sort. The office looked vaguely familiar, and the first thing he noticed was an abundance of silver spindly objects littering almost every surface. Looking to the right he saw an old man who he instantly realised was Dumbledore sitting behind a grand, equally cluttered desk, and a younger one with strikingly familiar features pacing the floor in front of it. It soon became clear that he was in the Headmaster's office, although this one wasn't under siege.

Memories of Hogsmeade and the Death Eater attack flooded back to him, as well as memories that he did not recall being there at their creation, and he clutched his head as they came barreling into his consciousness.

Images of a First Year without hint of the Philosophers Stone merged with the one in which he battled Quirrell and had his first taste of the conflict that would soon consume the Wizarding World.

Second Year then popped into his mind. Only this time there was no Basilisk, but instead a year where he helped win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup. If he thought back hard enough he could still feel himself being hoisted on the shoulders of his team mates, the heavy silver cup grasped tightly in his hands.

Third Year brought with it his parents' friend Remus teaching at Hogwarts. He taught Harry more magic than any Professor before him, and when he received his end of year results he still remembered the proud look on his parents' faces. It was a far cry from the desolate year he had once known, where his Godfather had been thought to be a murderer, and the only memories of his parents had been through a photo album Hagrid had created as well as a flash of lethal green light.

In Fourth Year his main memory was Christmas with his parents. Lily's laughter as James tried and failed to cook the dinner like a Muggle – he had lost a bet to Sirius over who would win the Quidditch World cup. Sirius was there taking photos, the cremated turkey being pulled out of the oven by a crestfallen James, and Harry honestly never thought he had eaten something worse. However, he got flashes of once eating some plant called Gillyweed, and compared to that it was delicious.

Fifth Year came with it a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. She bureaucratised the whole system, turning DADA into mere theory, with nothing practical. Of course Harry rebelled, with Ron and Hermione he set up a club to help his classmates learn how to cast and not just read. Of course he was caught, but Dumbledore let him off quite lightly, only a few weeks of detention. After all, it wasn't like the club was an army or anything.

Sixth Year was rather dull in comparison. All he could remember was classes. However, whilst reality was boring, his imagination was not. In his mind he conjured up battles, imagining fighting these 'Death Eaters' that were creating so much trouble for the Ministry with their random and viscous acts of violence. Although in the back of his mind he could remember different scenes. Not ones of heroism, but of desperation, loss, and regret. Sometimes it felt as if he had lived two lives.

Seventh Year was only half completed. It had been going relatively normally, until he had found himself sitting in Dumbledore's office after an attack on Hogsmeade during a school trip there. Now he was just confused and Voldemort... No, Tom... Was looking at him as if he were a particularly interesting insect.

"Harry, what do you remember?" asked Tom.

And really, what did he remember? He had two lives in his head. One relatively peaceful, his parents alive, and his friends happy. In the other Hogwarts had fallen, his parents and friends were dead, and he had travelled back in time.

Which one was real?

"Harry, it'll take time for you to adopt the new memories. You'll still have the old ones, but with time they will fade," said Dumbledore, looking the same as he did in both sets of memories with his white hair and deep blue robes with yellow stars coating them. At least there was one thing constant in this new world.

"Why do I remember two lives?" asked Harry.

"When I sent you back it created a new timeline, and therefore a new you. When the you from 1943 came to this timeline, he merged with the Harry already there. That is why you have two sets of memories," explained Tom.

"I thought I had failed. I thought you were going to become Voldemort. What stopped you?" asked Harry. He was certain he had failed. Was he dead and this some twisted dream showing him what could have been?

Although he conceded that his imagination wouldn't have been good enough to create this. This Tom looked slightly older than he did in 1943, perhaps by about 10 or so years. His boyish face had matured, the angles sharpened and the eyes seemed wiser. Harry noted that on his index finger was the Gaunt Ring, and suddenly the reason for his youthful appearance even though over fifty years had passed was evident.

"I had a great deal of time to think about what you had shown me, Harry. I wanted power, but from your memories I saw I had become a madman, unable to trust myself, let alone a group of followers. I depended on them for my life, and that was one of the most difficult things to recognise as I have never needed anyone. My sanity, my intelligence, and my power had gone, and that was not going to happen a second time," Tom answered, his voice indifferent, a tone more suited to talking about the weather than how one changed their destiny.

Harry remembered how Tom had looked when he had seen his older self. He wasn't sure at the time if he really had made Tom reconsider his actions, and the relief he felt upon hearing these words almost made him black out again.

"But I can remember Death Eaters in this timeline. What happened to the others?" asked Harry, and he saw both Dumbledore and Tom exchange a look. The meaning he wasn't sure of, but he had a hunch he was about to find out.

"Tom, you're the best one to explain this," said Dumbledore.

"The others were not so fond of my change of heart, if we can call it that. After school they took their fathers positions within the Ministry and have been pushing forth an agenda closer to Voldemort's. Using my talents I rose above them to become Minster for Magic, and until as of late they have not concerned me. However, in an effort to destroy my power they have created a group called 'Death Eaters'. They themselves are not Death Eaters, but they have a group of people disillusioned with the Muggle and Muggleborn friendly policies that are willing to resort to violence to have their views met. It is these people that you encountered in Hogsmeade," Tom's words were clipped, and Harry could hear the anger beneath the words just begging to be released.

"What do they hope to achieve with this?" asked Harry. Being in 1943 and knowing the people Tom was talking about personally made this even harder to imagine.

"I cannot stop them as of yet. Surprisingly the years have made them clever, as well as their close connection with me in our youth making them know more about my power than the average enemy. And whilst I would rather use more of my interesting spells on them, I have an appearance to keep up. That only leaves denouncing them in public, but that route is blocked as well since there is no trace of this faction leading back to them and - whilst retaining my good looks - I would be labelled insane once more-"

"And so by making you appear powerless you lose the public's trust and therefore your power, creating a void that they want to step into," guessed Harry. The others really were smarter than he had given them credit for, but then they had had over half a century to figure this out.

"It appears you've gotten quicker just as they did," remarked Tom.

"And obviously you haven't changed. Being a cold and irritating bastard is so 1943," retorted Harry.

"Boys, can we get back to the matter at hand," came Dumbledore's voice.

"Albus, it has been several decades since you could call me a boy," snapped Tom, his eyes flashing with irritation.

Dumbledore chose to ignore this and instead turned to Harry.

"Harry, you know these men. At least you did. Perhaps you could rekindle your old friendship and find out where they are hiding their base?"

"Friendship?" Harry and Tom sneered at the same time.

"They do not know your allegiance, only that you hated Tom-"

"Actually the lines were rather blurred on that one," interrupted Harry.

"Although after they thought I had killed you – kept secret from the rest of the school of course – their opinion might have changed," said Tom candidly.

"Excuse me? They thought you were capable of killing me?" hissed Harry, his eyes narrowing.

"Well you seemed pretty pathetic in your final moments, blathering on about how you'd see your dead relatives again," shrugged Tom.

"This could actually work in our favour," interjected Dumbledore. "Harry, you could reveal your time-traveller status and how you were meant to kill Tom. Embellish it a little to make it seem as if you're on their side-"

"Albus, Harry is as bad as lying as you would be as a Dark Lord," Tom let some frustration seep into his voice.

"And then what will you do? Stand there and watch the wizards and witches of this world lose faith in you and in desperation embrace a band of blood purists?" Dumbledore finally raised his voice, and Harry felt the urge to shrink back a little. Tom, to his credit, did not look fazed in the slighted.

"I'll do it," said Harry after a moments silence.

"You'll be killed," said Tom not even a second later.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I'd rather not see this timeline crumble after I've already gone back in time and had to put up with you for months to make it like this! In this timeline my parents are alive and I don't want to see them suffer because you can't stop your old friends," Harry almost growled.

"Well then don't expect me to show up to your funeral," said Tom frostily.

"Harry," said Dumbledore, acting oblivious to their argument, "Tom will give you a position in the Ministry as soon as term finishes. From there you will initiate contact and we'll go from there. Tom will keep an eye on you, I'm sure he has many ways to do so undetected. Now I know you have already agreed, but you have until the end of term to mull it over fully. I rushed you into time travel, and I won't rush you into this. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry, although he was certain his answer wouldn't change over the next few months.

"Now, Harry, if you'll excuse us we have other matters to discuss. I believe that Miss Granger and Mr Weasley are waiting for you outside the Great Hall," said Dumbledore, smiling happily at him – Harry had a feeling he remembered the events in the other timeline slightly better than he had let on.

Harry was at the door when Dumbledore spoke again.

"Once last thing, Harry. I want to thank you, without you this future would not have been possible."

Looking back Harry saw Tom just nodded – that was about as close to a thank you as he was going to get from him.

"It was no trouble, Sir," replied Harry, lying through his teeth.

* * *

><p><em>'When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.'<em>  
><em>~ Alexander Graham Bell<em>

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you so much for the reviews and I apologise that this has taken so long. I have struggled to write this, it seems the closer you get to the end the harder it is to produce something you're happy with! This is the end of this story, in future they may be a sequel detailing Harry's infiltration of the Ministry, but if I do it won't be for some time as I'm finding it hard balancing writing, working and uni work. However, getting back to this story I want to thank all of you for sticking with me. You have no idea how much I appreciate it, and I know I have been less than adequate on the updates so you all deserve a medal!_

_DISCLAIMER – I do not own Harry Potter._

_Anonymous Review Replies:_

_dianadenisa – Thank you, I'm glad you have enjoyed it so far, and sorry for taking so long!_

_Yume – Again sorry for taking so long! I'm never going to predict a time I'll have a chapter written in again!_

_Inarow – Thank you, I'm glad you liked what I did with that chapter, it took a long time to get the direction. And I really wouldn't want to make it slash as I've done that before and this was designed to challenge me, so there is no danger of that happening! :)_

_Bluebird – I guess this answers your question about what Tom does. I hope you like it!_

_Escha - Was your feeling right? I'm glad I surprised you with the last one though, and I hope I did with this one._

_chantal du lac – I'd rather finish it before I ran out of words to write, sorry for not making it longer, but I might continue in the future when I have more time. I'm glad you don't mind me playing about with the characters a bit, and I hope you like the ending!_

_Guest – It took ages, but I didn't leave it – that's worth something, right? :)_

_Guest – If I abandon a story I always put up a notice – I've only done that once, and then started it up a month later. Thank you for following the story. :)_


End file.
